


No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

by bluespiritx



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Haunted House, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Gore, Grave digging, M/M, Murder, Pining, Sex, Southern Gothic Vibes, just a couple of guys bein' dudes and hunting ghosts together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 21:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluespiritx/pseuds/bluespiritx
Summary: A story about a haunted Georgia farmhouse and its optimistic owner, a brooding, rugged maintenance man with a heart of gold, eternal ghost love, and a fat calico cat named Rosie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i tried to post this story 3 years ago but went back to rewrite it so here we are. enjoy!  
thanks to beepish for helping me edit this! (and also keeping me sane whenever i hit a plothole)

It was like the house had a mind of its own. The window panes shook at night even when there was no wind. The stairs creaked when there was no one on them. The lights flickered in the kitchen. The real estate agent told him that because the house was old, it often made various noises.  _ It's just the house settling! It’ll be fine.  _ It was the oldest line in the book, but Paul knew from the first night he spent there that there was something much more sinister lurking in the shadows.

He didn’t sense it the first time he was given a tour. It had been during the day, the sun shone through the windows and casted blocks of light on the floor. That day, the house had just seemed very lived in. Some of the paint was peeling, and the floors were scuffed from shoes and furniture being dragged across it. Just an old house that had seen a lot over the years.

He had packed all of his things into his car, looked up at his apartment building, and sighed. Then he got into the car and didn't look back.

He drove through the farmlands of Virginia, stopping for food and a drink at some highway rest stop, then he called his mom to update her on his travels. He drove with the radio cranked to drown out his own thoughts for a few hours until he saw a sign that welcomed him to Georgia.

By the time he reached King County, the sun was setting. The farmlands at golden hour were one of the things Paul had missed about coming down here. He knew exactly where he was once he reached the downtown area; Tara had brought him here enough times that he remembered stumbling drunkenly back to Tara’s apartment where he’d pass out on the couch. It had sucked up in Virginia after his friends had all moved down to Georgia, so he tried to visit them as much as possible. Tara had been trying to convince him for a while to move down there, but he just hadn’t been ready yet.

Paul pulled his car into his driveway and stared up at the house. It wasn’t really a looker, but he supposed he could get a fresh coat of paint on it and fix some of the shutters, maybe throw a couple of potted plants on the porch. 

He carried a few things up the walkway and unlocked the front door, stepping inside the empty house. He had to go to the furniture and grocery stores tomorrow. He had managed to fit his boxspring and mattress in the back of his car, but not much else. 

Paul unpacked the few boxes he had from his car, setting each one in its appropriate room and opening all the curtains as he made his way around the house. The house felt a lot more open and a lot less sad with the natural light and Paul felt like maybe the place had potential to be homey.

He worked on the living room first, putting up posters and plugging in his lamp. He set his TV on the floor and plugged it in as well, setting up his playstation so he could at least put on a DVD or something while he didn’t have wifi.

It wasn’t until he had made some microwaved ramen and was halfway through  _ Reservoir Dogs _ did Paul really feel like he wasn’t alone. He heard footsteps above him. They sounded heavy, like someone was walking on their heels. He glanced toward the ceiling and froze on the spot. He shook his head and brushed it off. Maybe the new house  _ was _ haunted, he thought, and that was fine. If it was some old soul wandering around his house, he’d just let it be in peace. 

When he was done with his food, he went upstairs to his room and lay on his bed in the dark. He opened the screen on his phone and saw there was a message from Tara saying that she would be at his house the next morning to help him shop for furniture. He went through his various social media until he felt his eyes start to droop. He clicked his phone shut and put it on the pillow beside him.

Right as he was about to fall into a deep sleep, he heard the footsteps again. This time they were louder, as if someone was outright stomping around, quickly, right below him. His eyes shot open, and he sat up and looked around. The footsteps were still going on; this wasn’t like any ghost he’d ever heard. Not that he’d heard many, but still. 

He jumped out of bed and slowly made his way down the hall, careful not to make any noise. Intruders he could deal with; he hadn’t trained in martial arts almost his whole life for nothing. He made it to the stairs and tiptoed down them, ignoring the small creaks they made. He was in full stealth mode now, on high alert, ready to defend himself. But as he faced the living room, where he had heard them go, the footsteps had stopped completely. He checked the watch on his wrist, which read twelve AM. He looked around the living room, then headed to the kitchen, double checking that the back door and screen were locked tight. He did the same for the front door, then went back to the living room and sat down in front of the TV. He clicked a movie back on for background noise, then scrolled through his contact list on his phone and called Tara.

“Hey dude!” she answered, sounding cheery and wide awake. “How’s the new place?”

“Hey,” he said happily. “It’s nice, just a little...noisy, I guess.”

“Noisy? Like, your neighbors?” she asked. “I thought it was in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, it is.” He replied, running his hand through his long hair. “But the house itself. It’s noisy. It creaks a lot, but I swear I keep hearing someone walking around.”

“Maybe it's just settling? I mean, it’s old right?” Tara said, sounding a little out of breath. 

Paul rolled his eyes.  _ Old houses settle. _ “I guess, but that doesn’t explain the footsteps.”

“You sure no one’s there with you?” Tara huffed a bit.

“What are you doing, running a marathon?” Paul asked, trying to ignore the chill running up his spine. “And yes, I’m sure.”

“I’m walking home from the Tavern because I was  _ supposed _ to have a girls night with Rosita, but she left with Abe after he showed up to make up after the fight they had today. Totally dramatic, I’m so annoyed.”

“Why didn’t you just take an uber home?” Paul sighed. “Or a cab?”

“Because, dude, I live like a block away. I’m not spending money just to make it back to my house three minutes quicker.” She replied. “Do you need me to come there? Must be creepy all alone.”

“It totally is,” Paul said, glancing around him, feeling uncomfortably like someone--or something--was watching him. “But I think I’ll be okay. Might just stay up and watch movies. Thanks for the offer though. Do you want me to stay on the phone until you’re home?”

“Actually walking in now, but thanks, man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, ten AM.”

“Ten AM.” Tara repeated, and Paul heard a door shut in the background. “Night, Jesus.”

“Night, Tara.”

Paul hung up the phone and turned the TV up a bit so he could hear it. He decided to pull an all nighter, which was going to require more than just sitting in front of his TV. He figured he might as well be productive if he was going to be awake all night. 

He started by turning every light on. The more light, the less creepy the house seemed. He unpacked his kitchen things and put everything in its rightful place. He assorted the snacks he had left over from his road trip into the cabinets, and the case of water he bought into the fridge.

Next, he worked on the living room. All he really had were a small bookshelf and a DVD rack. He switched the dvd out of the playstation for a different one, and grabbed the box of thumbtacks so he could put up his posters.

It didn’t take too long to unpack and decorate, and he had managed to haul his mattress in the house and up to his room, but left the boxspring behind for when he had some help. Paul sat in front of his TV until about four in the morning, and the sun was starting to come up. When it was fairly light outside and the birds started to chirp, Paul decided it was safe enough to sleep. He shut the TV off and dragged himself up the stairs, not realizing how tired his body was until now. When he reached his mattress, he set his alarm and then curled up in his blankets, the light morning air drifting through the window, and he fell asleep in a peaceful haze. 

Paul slept like the dead in the few hours that he got. Tara came to pick him up at ten, and they headed right into town to the store. They picked out some cheap side tables for the living room and bedroom, then got a black couch for the living room. Tara picked out some towels for the bathroom, and stocked the carriage with toilet paper and hand soap. They also managed to get a coffee table at a discount because it wobbled on one of the legs. 

Once they hauled all of that into the cab of Tara’s truck, they set off to the grocery store. Paul had stocked up on some snacks leftover from his roadtrip, but he needed to make sure he bought enough food that would last him until his first paycheck from his new job. Maggie Greene, who Paul had become friends with through Tara a year or two ago, owned the shop and was happy to give him a job.

Tara drove them back to Paul’s house, where they started unloading all of the furniture. Tara worked on the living room, while Paul started bringing things up to his room.

“Shit, man, you decorated without me.” Tara gestured to the posters on the wall as Paul came back into the living room.

Paul laughed under his breath. “Sorry, I was up all night. Figured I’d get some stuff done.”

“Maybe it’ll feel a little more like home now that you actually have things.” she shrugged. “And I have some things for you. Just a couple of little housewarming presents.” Tara picked up two bags that hadn’t been unpacked yet and pulled out a box of strung white christmas lights and a thick book with the words  _ Photos _ on the front, which she handed off to him. “I figured you could use a little cozy ambiance with the christmas lights, and you could use the photo album for photos of friends and family, or whatever.”

“Tara, thank you,” Paul said, turning the photo album over in his hands, the smooth covers cool against his palms. “Really, these are great.”

Tara smiled, and nudged his arm. “Of course. I’m so glad you finally moved out here, everyone can’t wait to see you again.”

The two finished putting the groceries away and then hung up the christmas lights around the living room. Tara was right; the lighting and the furniture really did make it seem a lot more like a home. He set up his record player on one of the end tables next to the couch and stacked his records on the shelf underneath. When everything was done, they sat back on the couch and Paul turned on the record player.

“And to officially make this house your own,” Tara dug around in her bag and pulled out a grinder full of weed and a bowl. “Care to do the honors?”

Paul laughed and took the baggie and packed the bowl. He held it up as a toast and smiled at his friend. “To Georgia.” he said, and took the first hit. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he felt all the stresses of the past two months start to slip away. He handed the bowl off to Tara, and they passed it back and forth until it was full of only ash. Tara was looking up at the ceiling, her mouth twitching as if she was going to say something.  
“Somethin’ up?” Paul asked. Tara was so easy to read, and as long as they’d been friends, he’d picked up on her little quirks.

“I’m glad you’re over the whole Alex thing,” she said bluntly. “He feels really bad still.”

Paul shook his head. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. We talked it over, he and I are fine.”

Tara shrugged. “I know, but I also know it hurt you when he left.”

“Yeah, so then I left,” he replied reassuringly. “Tara, seriously, it's okay. I really do hope he’s happy with his boyfriend.”

Tara seemed skeptical, but she kept it to herself, which Paul was thankful for. It hadn’t been a big deal; he and Alex hadn’t been serious. So when Alex decided to go for something that  _ was  _ serious, Paul could hardly blame him. He himself wasn’t much for commitment or long term, so even if Alex had stuck around, Paul wouldn’t have been able to give him what he wanted. 

After another bowl and a long talk about what all their friends had been up to, Tara went home and Paul was left to his big empty house again. He decided that maybe he’d feel less creeped out if he slept on the couch, at least then he could keep the TV on to fall asleep. He grabbed his pillows and blankets from his bed and brought them to the living room. He set himself up on the couch and turned on a show to fall asleep to.

_ A full moon bright over a field, the water from the creek nearby babbling, the warm breeze swaying the tall grass this way and that. _

_ A shrill, high pitched scream. Its bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the gashes and-- _

Paul shot up out of his sleep, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, a shiver running through him as he looked around him. He was in his living room, on his couch, the damp blankets tangled around his legs. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the images that were seared into his mind. His skin was crawling and it took a few minutes to regulate his heartbeat.

It had begun raining at some point in the night, the droplets hitting the windows, making a soft patter on the glass. Paul checked his phone, the bright screen reading  _ 2:36 am _ . He glanced around him one more time, still feeling like someone was there with him, someone he just couldn’t see. He shut the TV off and quickly gathered his pillows and his blankets and ran up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him and threw his pillows on his bed and laid down. He curled into his blankets, double checked his phone to make sure his alarms were set, and focused on meditative breathing techniques he learned in training until he was able to fall asleep.

On Thursday, Paul had gone to the coffee shop for his first day of work. The cafe was called Greene’s, and it was practically a household name in this town. Everybody went to Greene’s in the mornings to grab their breakfast and coffee; frazzled moms with kids in tow, elderly men and women gossiping together at corner tables. The inside had a very modern, but very cozy vibe. He used to come here with Tara and Rosita whenever he visited, but before taking the job he hadn’t seen Maggie since she took the cafe over from her stepmom.

Maggie popped behind Paul and his coworker, Sasha, and printed out receipts and price reports and patting them both on the backs as she walked by them. Paul watched her throw them a thumbs up before wooshing back to her office. She had been holed up in there all day, adding up morning sales from the past months, seeing where they faltered and where they thrived. With all the new restaurants and cafes coming to the main street where Greene’s was, Maggie had immediately jumped on to make sure they stayed on top, that the business was doing even better than it should be.

“She’s really on a roll in there, huh?” Paul chuckled to Sasha as he filled a cup with black coffee, put a lid and sleeve on it, and handed it to a customer, smiling and wishing them a good day in his best customer service voice.

“Can’t say the lady doesn’t know how to run a business.” Sasha laughed as she dried the mugs coming out of the dishwasher. “Even with those two new hipster coffee shops that just opened up, this place is just as crazy as ever.”

Paul smiled at that; from the moment he became Maggie’s employee he could tell she was serious about this place. 

Towards the end of Paul’s shift, the crowd was weeding out. At around eight, right before they locked the doors, they had a visitor.

A man with shaggy brown hair, a leather vest over a plaid shirt, and the nicest cheekbones Paul had ever seen on a human walked in, asking for Maggie.

“Uh, she’s in the back office.” Paul stuttered, because wow, this guy’s eyes were  _ unreal _ . Electric blue, for the sake of cliches, and so fucking beautiful Paul mentally slapped himself. Paul smiled and the man grunted and nodded as he headed toward the office door. 

Maggie came out then, smiling and threw her arms around the man. “Daryl! Thank you so much for coming, the AC in here is completely dead.” She then dragged him to where the vents were and had him inspect. Paul couldn’t stop from looking over at the man as Sasha taught him how to break down the machines. 

“Paul?” Sasha said, breaking Paul out of his trance and turning back to her. She just chuckled and shook her head. “Since he’s got you so distracted, that’s Daryl, the shop’s maintenance man. He does sort of a freelance thing, but he’s our regular electrician, plumber, whatever. He fixes shit.”

Paul blushed, causing Sasha to chuckle again, and he tried his best to keep his attention on the instructions he was supposed to follow. When Maggie and Daryl were done, Maggie insisted on giving Daryl a croissant for the road, which he accepted and took a bite before giving Paul a nod on his way out.

On his drive home for the next few days, there was an eerie feeling all throughout Paul’s body. The roads had no street lights, so he drove with his high beams on almost the entire time. It only took him about twenty minutes to get to and from Greene’s, but on Saturday night it felt like an hour. The whole time he avoided looking in the rearview mirror out of the fear that he might see someone back there, staring at him. A shiver ran through him and he shook his head. He just focused on the radio and the road until he reached his house. As soon as he shut his car door, he looked up at the tall house looming over him. He sighed, dread creeping its way through his veins, and walked up to the front door. When he locked it behind him, he tried the knob a few times, just to make sure it didn’t budge. On edge was an understatement; his skin wouldn’t stop crawling and he felt like he was going to come face to face with something with every corner he turned. 

His chest felt heavy and every hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he walked through the house. He turned on the TV to fill the big empty space with background noise. He sat on his couch, trying to relax, but he still had that antsy feeling of being under someone’s watchful gaze. His friends were coming over in about an hour, so he supposed he could set up a bit before they got there. Anything to distract himself from the feeling of being followed by something  _ very closely _ around the house. 

He filled a bowl with chips and another with dip, and he grabbed a beer out of the fridge and popped one open. He set it on the kitchen table and threw his hair up in a bun. The house was hotter than usual, so Paul cracked open a few of the windows and let some air in. It helped a bit, and it also seemed to help lighten his mood. He took a second to breathe in the fresh air in the kitchen, and then moved on to the living room. He cracked two windows in there as well, then turned on the christmas lights. He plopped down onto the couch, and looked around the room. It felt calmer, somehow, the warm breeze and dim lighting turning his living room into a peaceful space. 

“Okay, so step one; open the windows.” Paul said to himself, but maybe also to whatever might be listening to him. “Noted.”

Tara, Sasha, Maggie, and Glenn all got to his place about forty five minutes later, happily coming through his front door with cases of beer and pizzas. They all took up in the living room, throwing their coats on the couch and starting in on the food. Tara hooked her phone up to Paul’s speakers and held up her beer.

“A toast!” she said. “To Jesus, for getting off his ass and finally fucking moving to Georgia.”

They all held up their beers and laughed and cheered. Paul couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face. He hadn’t actually had a good laugh in about a week, and this just felt so good. Having people around, making the house feel like a home.  _ Okay, step two; don’t be such a hermit. _ Paul thought to himself. 

That night when Paul went to bed after everyone left, the air in the house felt a bit lighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know literally nothing about fuseboxes whaddup

The opening shift at Greene’s was definitely Paul’s favorite time of the week. Every Monday he had to be in at 6 AM, as opposed to his usual 8 AM shift, but it was worth it. He got to go in and open alone now, since he had picked everything up pretty quickly over the last two weeks. He would put his music over the speakers while he set up all the machines and cleaned, and made himself the first coffee of the day. 

Except today, when Paul woke up with his alarm, he looked at his phone and saw that it hadn’t charged overnight and was only on ten percent. He threw the covers off him, rubbing his eyes. He leaned down to check the charger, and tried plugging it in a few times, but each time nothing happened. He sighed, praying that his phone wasn’t the problem and that he could just buy a new charger. 

He got up and went to the bathroom down the hall, but when he flicked the light switch, nothing happened. He tried it a few more times, but gave up and realized the power must have gone out during the storm last night. 

“Shit.” he muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair. There was no way he was going to be able to stay in this house without electricity, especially not with all the weird feelings he’d been having. 

He walked downstairs and out of the side door of the house to check the fuse box. When he opened the door to the box, he had no idea what the hell he was even looking for.

Paul figured he’d might as well save the shower for later and get ready for work. He headed back to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth, turning on the flashlight on his phone. When he finished, he went back to his room, got dressed, and threw his hair up in a bun. 

When he walked into the shop, he came face to face with none other than Maintenance Man Daryl. Paul froze as he looked up, instantly thrown off by the bright blue eyes looking at him from behind strands of brown hair. Daryl had stopped by the cafe a few more times after their brief first meeting, each time giving Paul a nod as he headed to the back office. The only two things Paul had learned about Daryl was that he didn’t really speak, he loved his motorcycle like it was his child, and that when he was focused on something, he would bite his lower lip and it drove Paul crazy.

“Morning,” Paul greeted, giving him an easy smile and walking past him through the doorway.

Daryl nodded, muttering “mornin’” tiredly before heading out the back door. Paul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and headed back behind the bar to start opening up and make himself a coffee.

When Daryl walked back in from outside, he was carrying a ladder and heading towards the back office, trying to hide a yawn.

“Hey, Daryl?” Paul asked, causing Daryl to lift his head and look back at him. “Do you want a coffee?”

Daryl shook his hair out of his eyes. “‘M fine.” he replied in his gruff voice.

Paul shrugged. “I always make myself one anyway, I wouldn’t mind making an extra.”

Daryl looked down at the floor, then back up at Paul and shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

“How do you drink it?” Paul asked playfully. “You seem like a latte guy, I can draw a cat or something in the foam if you want.”

Daryl scoffed, but it didn’t feel totally dismissive. “Just black.”

“Got it.” Paul nodded and turned back to the counter as Daryl walked into the office.

It didn’t take too long for Paul to set up, and he had about a half hour left before he had to open the doors. He sat at one of the tables with his coffee and his phone, scrolling through facebook this and twitter that. He sighed and closed the apps, looking up to catch Daryl coming out of the office with the ladder.

“Your coffee’s on the pickup station.” Paul said to him. 

Daryl picked it up and sipped it, nodding. “Thanks.” Paul watched out of the corner of his eye as Daryl brought the ladder next to the counter and climbed it.

“So,” Paul said, leaning on his elbows on the table. “What’s got you here so early?”

Daryl began unscrewing the light bulb in the fixture above the pickup counter. He popped the bulb out and nodded to it, leaning down to put it on the counter before picking up a new one to replace it. “A few lights went out, and Maggie’s office ceilin’ is leakin.” he grunted.

“Oh!” Paul exclaimed, recalling this morning. “You don’t by any chance make house calls, do you?”

Daryl glanced at him from the corner of his eye and raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Paul breathed out a laugh. “Sorry, that came out weird. I meant-- My electricity went out, and I don’t know how to fix it. Sasha said you freelance sometimes.”

Daryl looked over at him, but when their eyes met, he quickly looked away. Paul’s stomach flipped, so he took in a deep breath and prepared for his answer.

“Where d’ya live?” he asked.

Paul smiled. “I’ll write it down for you. Does 8 o clock work?”

Daryl nodded, and Paul handed him the address. Maggie walked in through the back door in a flurry, hands full of papers and a coffee with it’s contents sloshing over the top. She greeted them with a smile and then went into the back office.

Paul watched as Daryl pocketed the paper and nodded at him before following Maggie.

The shift went by as usual; morning rush, lunch rush, then a lull, then closing at five. While Paul closed up the register and counted up his tips, Maggie came over to him.

“So,” she leaned on the counter next to him. “Daryl’s going to your house tonight?”

“Huh?” he glanced at her, then realized he was blushing, so he looked back down at his money. “Oh, uh, he’s just coming to check the electricity.”

“Oh?” Maggie innocently widened her eyes. “That’s all?”

Paul couldn’t help but laugh then, and nod his head. “That’s all.”

“If you say so.” Maggie shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee from one of the pots. “I’m just sayin’, me and Sasha noticed how you get whenever he comes in here. You can’t stop smiling and you have this super smooth voice you put on. It's adorable.”

Paul groaned. “Okay, one, I can’t help it if I’m charming as hell. And two, he’s attractive. And he’s got his own business, and he drives a motorcycle--”

“And he’s single.” Maggie interrupted, taking a sip of her coffee. “And him and his last boyfriend broke up about eight months ago.”

Paul rolled his eyes and grinned, put his tips in his wallet, and then grabbed his sweatshirt from off the coat rack behind the counter. “Bye, Maggie.”

She smiled mischievously over the rim of her coffee mug and waved him goodbye.

Paul stopped at the store after he left work and bought a few flashlights and packs of batteries. He grabbed some candles too, just in case. Since he got home by six, he figured he had time to nap, especially since he had woken up earlier than usual this morning. So he collapsed on his couch, kicked off his boots, and fell into a deep sleep.

_ A sunlit room, a warm summer breeze coming in through the window. A soft, warm bed with perfectly fluffed pillows. You roll over to face your lover, your thumb lightly ghosting over her cheekbone, her skin smooth and soft. She smiles at you, eyes still half closed with sleep, and you’ve never felt warmer than you do now.  _

A knocking on the front door woke Paul out of his sleep. He looked around, the strange dream he had still creeping on the edges of his consciousness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The room was much dimmer than it was when he went to sleep, and the clock said it was ten past eight. He got up and opened his front door to find Daryl standing there with a toolbox in one hand and his car keys in the other.

“Hey,” Paul rasped, voice still heavy with sleep. “Come on in. Thanks so much for coming.”

“S’no problem.” Daryl stepped through the threshold into the dark house and looked around the foyer. Paul closed the door behind them and led Daryl back to the living room.

“The house is pretty old.” Paul stated. “so it might just be shitty wiring, but then again I’m no expert.”

Paul sat on the couch and started putting the batteries in, as Daryl observed the candles. 

“Y’want these lit?” Daryl picked up a lilac scented one. “S’dark as shit in here.”

“Yeah, please, that’d be great.” Paul replied, turning on one of the flashlights and setting it light side up on the coffee table. Daryl took his lighter out and began lighting candles. Paul glanced at him and noticed that the flickering candlelight across his face made his rugged features look a bit softer. For the first time since they had met, Paul realized just how handsome Daryl was _ . _ He had figured Daryl might be a bit older than him; he had a few silver hairs in his beard and bags under his tired eyes. But in this light he looked young, maybe almost Paul’s age. 

Daryl made eye contact with him then, soft eyes gazing right into his. It wasn’t startling, like it usually is when somebody catches you staring. It felt warm, natural. It felt like forever before Paul finally broke the gaze, his heart now hammering, almost jumping out of his chest at the intensity of the moment. He could feel his face go red hot, so he cleared his throat and focused on the task at hand.

Once all the candles were lit, and the first four flashlights were set up to create some sort of useful lighting, Paul grabbed the last one and turned it on.

“Come on, I’ll show you the fuse box.” Paul led them down the hall to the kitchen, out the back door to the side of the house. He handed Daryl the flashlight and watched as he worked. Paul looked around him while he waited; he observed the field that surrounded his house, a chill running through his body. The view reminded him of the first weird dream he had in the house. He tried to shake the feeling, but it was all creeping back up on him, the first dream with all the blood and bone, whatever it was that was constantly watching him--

“Fuse box is all clear.” Daryl’s voice snapped Paul out of whatever trance he had been in, and he turned back to face him. “We can always check--”

The sound of glass shattering then came from the open kitchen window just above them. Both men looked up, then at each other.

“You got a roommate?” Daryl asked, pointing at the window. 

Paul’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No.” 

Daryl looked up at the window again, then put his finger up to his lips in a shushing gesture and looked at Paul. “C’mon. Follow me.”

Paul followed him back around the other side of the house to Daryl’s pickup truck, where Daryl reached into the bed and pulled out a crossbow loaded with five arrows. He crouched into a shooting position, so Paul bent to his level and stayed close behind him. Once they got back around to the front door, Paul followed Daryl’s every move. He was being light on his feet, prepared to defend them if there was someone in the house. He looked around every corner that Daryl did from the front door all the way to the kitchen. There, they found the coffee mug cabinet open, broken ceramic shards all over the floor, and a photograph that was ripped in half.

Paul felt another chill run up his spine, so cold that it dug straight into his bones, paralyzing him, as if he had been left out in the snow in soaking wet clothes. He hadn’t realized that he was full on shivering until Daryl had placed a hand on his shoulder and said his name. Paul looked up at him and realized that he could see his breath coming out in clouds, despite the fact that it was May. There was another crash from the living room, causing Daryl to jump and tighten his grip on Paul’s shoulders.

“Paul.” Daryl was in front of him now, holding him by the shoulders and looking right into his eyes. “We gotta get outta here.”

Paul lightly pushed Daryl away from him and walked toward the broken glass. He ignored Daryl’s pleas to escape, picking up the photograph. He put the two pieces together to show a wedding photo; a man with a professional looking smile, and a woman with soft eyes and a timid grin.

Paul swayed a bit, his vision going double and his head feeling like lead. Daryl pulled him by the arm down the hall and out the front door, and then he felt nothing. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *to the tune of 'let's get loud'*  
let's get gay, let's get gaaaaaaaaaay

When Paul woke up, he heard muffled voices in the distance. As he came to, he cracked his eyes open and found himself in an unfamiliar, warmly lit room. He was laying on a soft couch, covered with crocheted blankets. He tried to sit up, but gave up when there was throbbing ache in the side of his skull. He hissed at the pain, and began coughing, his throat feeling as though it was coated in sawdust.

Maggie came into the room then, and Paul was both confused and overjoyed to see her.

“You’re awake,” she said with relief. She knelt down next to the couch and put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you warm enough?”

Paul nodded slightly, then began coughing again when he tried to speak.

“Here,” she handed him some water and watched as he took small sips. “We’re at my apartment.”

Paul tried to put the night together in his head, only bits and pieces coming back to him. “How long was I out for?”

“‘Bout three hours. It's almost midnight.” Maggie replied. “Daryl said you were shivering pretty bad before you passed out. He didn’t wanna leave you at the house, so he brought you here.”

_ Daryl _. He had been with Daryl when he fainted, which brought the night back to him. The house, the mess in the kitchen, the photograph--

“Where is he?” Paul asked then. “Where’s Daryl?”

“He left about an hour ago. Said he had to take care of something.” Maggie said.

Paul tried to ignore the sinking in his chest. Daryl had probably dropped him at Maggie’s and went home, freaked out about the whole night. Paul wouldn’t exactly blame him; everything that happened was a lot to process. He wasn’t sure that he completely understood it himself. The only thing he knew was that something sinister was in his house. Everything that was running through his head was exhausting him, and all at once he felt sleepy again.

“You get some more sleep,” Maggie said, giving him a small smile. “I’ll come check on you before I leave for work tomorrow. You can sleep for as long as you need to.”

“But I’m in tomorrow at--”

“Jesus, don’t even think about coming into the cafe.” She put her hands on her hips and looked at him sternly. “I’m givin’ you the day off. Use it to get some rest.”

She got up then, and headed back to the room she came in from. Paul repositioned himself, curling the blankets around his body, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety, and sunk into the first night of uninterrupted sleep he had gotten in weeks.

The next morning brought sun, warm weather, and a kind of ambition Paul hadn’t felt in a while. He had gotten up off of Maggie’s couch at almost noon, taking advantage of his day off as she had said he should. He figured the least he could do was tidy up a bit, so he folded the blankets and sent Maggie a text thanking her for taking care of him.

He called a cab to take him home, and when he walked in the front door, the house felt empty. All of his stuff was still in the same place, even the ceramic glass shards still littered around the kitchen floor, but for some reason the whole place felt abandoned. Like something terrible happened there a long time ago, but all that was left was the broken aftermath. It wasn’t so much eerie as it was sad. The house felt lonely, like something was missing, and the feeling of hollowness washed over Paul in one big wave. He made his way through the kitchen to the back door and walked into his backyard. He looked out over his property, the empty field that led to the forest, and took a deep breath in as the warm breeze swayed the grass all around him.

So many things didn’t add up. He didn’t really know much about the supernatural, but he knew that this wasn’t just a harmless spirit. Something last night had set it off that it physically harmed him. 

He walked back in the kitchen and figured his first step might as well be cleaning up. He set the photograph on the counter, then he grabbed the broom. He swept up the broken mug fragments into a dustpan, then tossed them in the trash. 

Paul settled on his couch, laptop in his lap, and googled his address. Several articles came up, the first one being one from the town’s local newspaper.

  
  


** _Horrific Hawking Murders_ **

_ Friday May 20, 1977, Judd Hawking, and an individual later identified as Mariah LaReaux, were found dead on the property of the Hawking’s farmhouse off of Elm st. Police also found Fiona Hawking, Judd Hawking’s wife, at the crime scene, crying and holding a pistol. _

_ Photos of the crime scene showed the bodies of Mr. Hawking and LaReaux, lying in a pool of blood in the dirt just on the edge of the property. _

_ Mr. Hawking was in the tobacco business, and Mrs. Hawking was a stay at home wife. Ms. LaReaux was active in the local parish and worked closely with Mrs. Hawking on fundraisers. _

_ Mrs. Hawking was taken into custody, but has since not spoken a word. Her trial is set to start at the end of the month. _

Paul read through it a few times before opening a new tab and searching “Hawking Murders, Georgia.” He clicked on a few articles, a few sentences jumping out at him here and there. After searching all three names and scouring the web for almost an hour, Paul found Mariah LaReaux’s obituary. But when Paul looked close enough at the portrait, he froze. The woman smiling at him from his computer screen--the warm, radiant energy she gave off--was the woman from his dream. 

Paul sighed heavily, shut his laptop, and rubbed his hands over his face. He could sit there in his haunted farmhouse, or he could do something with himself. 

He picked up his phone and punched call on Tara’s contact name.

“Yello?”

“Hey,” he responded. “What are you up to tonight?”

“I was so happy when you asked to go out!” Tara said over the music as she and Paul leaned against the bar, waiting for their drinks. “I feel like you moved down here and I see you _ less _ than when you lived in Virginia!” 

“Yeah,” Paul ran his hand through his hair, matching Tara’s volume. “I’m sorry, things have been kinda weird lately.”

They paid the bartender then headed to a high top table. Tara took a sip 

of her whiskey sour. “Weird how?”

Paul shrugged, sipping his beer. “I dunno, like...haunted?”

“Oh shit,” Tara’s eyes widened. “Did you see something?”

“I mean, kind of?” he replied. “Not so much what I saw. Ever since I moved in I feel like I’m being watched. Then the other night Daryl was over fixing--”

“Wait--” Tara put her hand up to stop him. “Daryl? The guy from the coffee shop?”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Yes, he was fixing my electricity after the storm knocked it out. Or he would have, if some ghost wasn’t busy trashing my kitchen.”

Someone called out Tara’s name, and three people walked over. She introduced them, and Paul smiled and made small talk until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Daryl with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, his hair hanging over his eyes.

He nodded toward the door. “Needa talk t’ya outside.”

Paul told Tara he’d be right back, and left the group. He followed Daryl through the crowd gathering by the bar and out the side door to the alley. Daryl lit his cigarette and pushed his hair back on the exhale. Paul got caught up in admiring his jawline and forgot why they were out there in the first place.

Daryl looked at him then, and Paul felt the buzz he had going for the first time all night. 

“How ya feelin’?”

That definitely wasn’t what Paul expected to hear, especially not after Daryl disappeared last night.

“Much better, thank you. Maggie’s a pretty good nurse.” Paul smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"Here with some friends, saw you at the bar and figured this was easier than textin' you." Daryl took another drag of his cigarette. “You been back to the house?”

Paul arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Why?”

“Anythin’--” Daryl cleared his throat. “Did anything happen?”

“No, nothing. It was actually really quiet when I got there.” Paul replied. His heart still felt a little heavy from the feeling. “It almost felt like nothing ever happened.”

Daryl just nodded and took one long drag of his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke and hunching his shoulders a bit. 

“Are, um..” Paul started. “Are you alright?” 

Daryl looked at him and shrugged, trying to hide a smirk. “‘‘M not the one that fainted.”

Paul folded his arms. “Oh, really? _ You _ try spending a night in that house. Whatever’s there hates me.”

“Fine.” Daryl replied, stubbing out his cigarette.

Paul narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’ll spend a night in the house. See exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Paul met Daryl’s eyes, finding a look that challenged him.

“Oh?” Paul arched an eyebrow, giving Daryl a smirk. “There’s a ‘we’ now?”

Daryl shrugged, and Paul caught his blush before he turned his head away. “Don’ think anyone’s gonna believe us if we tell ‘em what happened. And the way you passed out tells me you ain’t doin’ this alone without dyin’ or losin’ a limb or somethin’.”

The edge in Daryl’s voice that was egging him on was really starting to get to his alcohol-addled mind. He decided then that he could probably listen to Daryl speak forever and never get bored of his voice.

“Fine.” Paul said. _ As long as you don’t stop talking. _ “Tomorrow night. I get out of work at six.”

Paul hadn’t realized at the time how bold his challenge to Daryl Dixon had been. He mostly blamed his liquid courage, but also the intense focus in Daryl’s eyes just dared him to go for it. He was too nervous to care about that now though, because he was an hour from the end of his shift at the cafe and Daryl was sleeping over that night to help him talk to ghosts. His face warmed up at that thought, both out of embarrassment and that _ Daryl _ was sleeping over _ his house. _

“You look like you’re feeling better.” Maggie snapped him out of his thoughts as she squeezed by him behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” he recuperated and gave her a warm smile. “Thanks again for taking care of me. I owe you.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me. I would do it anytime.” She patted him on the shoulder and leaned back against the counter while Paul continued working. “You talk to Daryl since then?”

Paul nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I actually saw him last night when I was out with Tara.”

“Good.” She said. “He’d been texting me after he left that night, making sure you were alright.”

“He did?” Paul looked at her now, heart missing a beat. Maggie grinned and Paul rolled his eyes. Maggie walked away and into her office, and left him to finish cleaning.

When Paul got home, he figured he might as well go on with his own routine instead of waiting around for his crush to come over like some nervous teenager. 

He started with dinner; he wasn’t sure exactly what Daryl liked to eat, and as he searched through his cabinets and fridge he realized he didn’t have much food. Paul’s shoulders sulked a bit, letting himself mope for a second. He had been a trooper since he moved into this hell house, so he threw a little pity party over having to go grocery shopping because at least that felt normal.

He heard a motorcycle pulling into his driveway, and a moment or two after it stopped, there was a knock at his front door. Paul opened it to Daryl standing there with his hands in his pockets, shoulders a bit hunched, hair hanging in his eyes. He looked a lot more like the quiet, brooding maintenance man from the coffee shop, and less like the confident man he had talked to last night outside the bar.

“Hey, come on in.” Paul said. Daryl followed him into the living room and glanced around. “No crossbow this time?”

“Wasn’t much help last time,” Daryl shrugged. “When did the electricity come back?”

“Late last night, it was back on when I got home from the bar.” Paul said, sitting on the couch, Daryl sitting on the other side. “You hungry? I don’t have anything really, but we could always order a pizza.”

Daryl shrugged. “Pizza’s good with me.”

Paul called the food in, and they both sat in silence for a moment after that. 

“So, a sleepover,” Paul said. “That’s the next step in our relationship? You move pretty fast, Dixon.”

“Thought I was here to make sure you pass out on a soft surface this time.” 

Paul chuckled and stood up. “I’m gonna head out for a smoke, you wanna join?” 

Daryl followed him to the front porch and they sat next to each other on the stoop. Paul took a lighter and a rolled joint from his pocket and put it into his mouth. Daryl raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Oh, sorry. You want any?” Paul said from the side of his mouth.

Daryl shook his head, lighting up his cigarette. “I’m good, thanks though.”

Paul lit the joint and inhaled, holding it for a moment. He exhaled and looked out to the road, empty and dark. The air was still all around them, and the sound of crickets and frogs echoed from the fields surrounding the house. 

“Cool motorcycle,” Paul said. “How old did you start riding?”

Daryl blew out a stream of smoke. “‘Bout fifteen. My brother Merle taught me how to fix bikes and I been ridin’ ever since.”

Paul watched as he licked his lips before putting his cigarette to his mouth. His cheeks hollowed a bit as he pulled the smoke into his lungs, and Paul had to consciously turn his head away so he’d stop staring. 

“So what do we do about the whole ghost thing exactly?” Paul asked.

“Guess we could see if it does anything tonight?” Daryl suggested.

“I guess. I did some research on the house and it said there was a murder here, which you’d think would be mentioned during the sale process.” Paul scoffed. “A woman killed her husband and another woman.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl said. “Think it's one of ‘em doin’ all this?”

“Probably, maybe the wife?” 

The food delivery car pulled up then, and Glenn stepped out. He carried their pizza up the walkway and waved at them.

Daryl smiled at him and waved back. “Hey, man.”

Glenn gave Daryl a fist bump and handed him the pizza. “What’s up, guys?”

“Takin’ care of a ghost problem.” Daryl replied casually, and took another drag of his cigarette. 

“Speaking of which.” Paul reached for his wallet. “I got the food, since you’re lending me your expert ghost hunting services.” 

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, I got it. For letting me crash here.”

They both started taking cash out of their wallets, until Glenn looked between the two of them with a smile and waved them both off. “Its cool, I got this one. I gotta get back to work though, I’ll see you guys later.”

They waved goodbye and took the food inside. Daryl put it down on the coffee table in the living room and Paul walked into the kitchen for plates and napkins. 

“Hey, you want something to drink?” Paul called, and Daryl walked into the kitchen doorway. “I have beer, pizza’s best friend.”

Daryl accepted and after a couple of slices and a few beers, Paul realized that nothing remotely creepy had happened so far that night.

“Been pretty quiet.”

Daryl nodded, glancing around. “We’ll see what happens when it gets to midnight.” When Paul cocked his head at him he continued. “Y’know. The witching hour.”

“I do not know,” Paul sipped his beer. “What made you believe in ghosts, anyway?”

“Saw a chupacabra once. Now I’m a believer.” Daryl finished off his beer and relaxed back against the couch. He seemed to have loosened up a bit, now settled closer to Paul on the couch.

“A chupacabra? Really?” Paul giggled. “In Georgia?”

“Damn right,” Daryl nodded, “Hidin’ up in them backwoods, I swear.”

Paulnoticed Daryl’s half smile and it made him want to melt. Daryl met his eyes, his expression soft but focused completely on Paul. Paul felt his heart speed up and his intoxicated state start to take over his instincts.

Footsteps coming from upstairs broke their gaze. They both looked up at the ceiling and then at each other. The steps were light, carrying on above them, fading off above the kitchen before stopping altogether. 

Paul waited for the icy feeling from last time, waited for his chest to constrict with cold so badly that he couldn’t breathe, but it never came. Instead, as they walked into the kitchen, a wave of calm washed over him. The room was bathed in a warm light, one that reminded Paul of home. The smell of food filled his nostrils, roasted and seasoned aromas wafting through the room. The sound of laughter came from upstairs, light, almost like a song. Paul glanced at Daryl, who looked serene. Paul realized that was the most content he had ever seen him and it was beautiful.

It didn’t feel like a trance, not really. It felt more like they were walking through someone else’s version of the house. Like they were being shown a memory, a projection of something that once happened in this very place. This was the most peaceful of the interactions he’d had with the spirit in his house, and he didn’t know what else they had been waiting for. So he followed the laughter.

Daryl followed behind him until they reached the bedroom. They walked inside and Paul looked around. Nobody was there. 

In the middle of the bed, there was a small box he had never seen before. 

“Do we open it?” Paul asked. He was pacing around next to the kitchen table while Daryl sat in a chair, cigarette lit in his hand. It helped a little to get rid of the smell of cooking food. It had smelled nice, and it wasn’t like anything had hurt them, but the fact that it should not have been there bothered Paul.

Daryl took a drag of his cigarette and wiped his hand over his face. “I guess we…” He trailed off, then stubbed his cigarette and reached for the box on the table. “Yeah. We open it. Fuck it.”

“Wait!” Paul put his hand on top of Daryl’s to stop him, and Daryl raised an eyebrow at him, but his hands froze. Paul quickly pulled his hand away. “What if--I don’t know, we don’t know where this thing was. Or what’s gonna come out of it.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Daryl shook his head. “We’ll open it on the porch. C’mon.”

Out on the porch with the light on, Daryl lit up a second cigarette and held the box on his lap. He set the cigarette on the ashtray and took the lid off the box. Paul glanced away at first, but ultimately his curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to Daryl to see what it was. 

“It’s a bunch of letters.” Daryl said, picking up a stack of papers and envelopes tied together with a ribbon. He untied it and unfolded the first one in the stack. He handed it to Paul when he was done, and as he read, Daryl looked through the stack, then sighed.

“We’re gonna be here a while.” 

By the time they had finished reading the letters, discussing them, and sorting them chronologically, it was 2 AM.

“So, there were no names mentioned. There are dates on all of them. And…” Paul looked at the notebook he had brought out at around midnight because his memory was starting to fade the later it got and writing things down usually helped. 

“And they’re all in the same handwriting.” Daryl added, voice raspy from exhaustion and chain smoking.

“Right.” Paul leaned his head back against the house behind him and wondered how much longer they should stay up. His anxiety would probably keep him up, or at the very least he’d fall asleep and have more nightmares. 

“What do you think it all means?” Daryl asked.

Paul furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Okay, well, I’ve written down everything we know. From the articles I read to the letters, and the events that took place last time and tonight--”

Daryl met his eyes then, and Paul put his hand over his face and started laughing. His exhaustion was starting to make him loopy, but he couldn’t help it.

Daryl turned his head to the side a bit and breathed out a laugh. “What?”

Paul shook his head. “Why are you helping me with all of this?”

Daryl’s eyes widened a bit and he glanced away, and Paul could _ swear _he saw him blush. He didn’t care how tired he was.

“Like, you could be at home sleeping right now. Or watching TV, or--” Paul cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Anything else but--”

“Huntin’ ghosts with you?” Daryl looked at him with half lidded eyes.

Paul’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips on instinct. He was on fire inside. _ Get it together, Rovia. _

Daryl shrugged. “This is more interestin’, I guess.”

Paul stood up, and stretched. “Guess so.” Daryl stood up and followed Paul inside. 

“I’m about to pass the fuck out,” Daryl said walking towards the couch.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want.” Paul froze when he realized Daryl was staring at him. “I mean, uh, I’ll sleep on the couch, if you want the bed. You’re the guest, and I nap on that couch all the time. Its comfy as shit.”

“I’ll take the comfy couch, thank ya very much,” Daryl said, throwing the blanket over himself and settling in with his arm behind his head on the pillow.

Paul sighed and waved him goodnight. He headed upstairs and collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep instantly.


	4. Chapter 4

_ She stands by the window next to the back door, in her floral dress and white church shoes. She looks beautiful bathed in sunlight; but nothing, not even the sun makes you feel warmer than she does. _

_ You walk over to her and put your hands around her waist and settle your chin on her shoulder. She turns around in your arms and smiles before kissing you. _

_ “I’ll see you later, baby.” she kisses you again. “I love you.” _

_ A full moon bright over a field, the water from the creek nearby babbling, the warm breeze swaying the tall grass this way and that. _

_ A shrill, high pitched scream. It's bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You recognize the terrified pleading that you hear just up ahead. You know it’s her.  _

_ You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the bones, the gashes and… _

_ Your hand flies down to the pocket of your pants. It closes around the handle of the pistol, until you point it up at the culprit with the crossbow-- _

Paul gasped for air as he shot up in bed. The hair at the back of his neck was drenched in cold sweat. He was breathing heavily, looking around, grounding himself so he remembered where he was. He had never felt as planted in the dreams before as he did now. This was the most vivid one he had and there was this lingering eeriness that he couldn’t shake. He felt sad and a little disturbed, like he had watched something that he absolutely shouldn’t have.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded to open the door and headed out into the hall. He went to the kitchen, spotting Daryl still asleep on the couch on his way. He tiptoed until he reached the coffee maker and decided that was definitely his first step today. He had the day off, and he was dedicating his whole day to researching whatever the fuck was going on in his house. Who was the woman in the dreams? Why did they keep leading him back to that field?

Paul sighed and watched as the coffee maker gurgled to life and he relished in the smell of caffeine. His eyes drooped a bit now that his heart had stopped racing, so he poured a glass of cold water and chugged it. He heard Daryl stir in the living room, and eventually he walked into the kitchen. 

Daryl rubbed his eyes and gave Paul a small wave. “Mornin’.”

“Morning.” Paul gave him a tired grin. “How’d you sleep?”

Daryl sat down at the kitchen table. “You were right about your couch. Comfy as shit. How about you?”

Paul sighed. “I keep having these weird dreams. I feel like they’re trying to tell me something.”

“What kinda weird dreams?” Daryl asked.

Paul grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with coffee. “There’s always this woman in them, and I’m pretty sure it’s the woman from the news article I read.” Paul bit his lip and thought for a second; what was her name again? He took a sip of his coffee and then decided. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogged to the living room and retrieved his laptop from the coffee table. He brought it back to the kitchen table and immediately started to scroll through the articles he had saved on the matter.

“There she is!” Paul exclaimed as he turned the screen to Daryl. On it was a picture of a young woman with dark skin, brown eyes, and a warm, inviting smile. “That’s the woman in my dreams. Mariah Lareaux.”

Daryl bit at his thumbnail as he thought. “So who was she?”

Paul shrugged. “There was a husband and a wife that lived here, and the wife was found alive at the crime scene…Maybe Lareaux was his mistress?”

“That makes sense.” Daryl said. “What did ya say the couple’s name was again?”

“Uh,” Paul scrolled back up to the top of the article. “Hawking. Judd and Fiona Hawking.”

Daryl nodded. “I know that name from somewhere. I’ll ask Merle if he recognizes it. Maybe someone our pa knew.” 

“Really?” Paul asked. “Hawking’s a pretty common name, y’know.”

Daryl shrugged. “Worth a shot, right?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “This is probably the most we’ve gotten out of this entire situation so far.”

“I’ll take what we can get.” Daryl stood up and stretched his arms over his head. Paul tried not to take notice of the sliver of belly that showed as Daryl’s shirt rose up, but he was only goddamn human. “‘I gotta get back to my place, though. Gotta head out to see Merle. Wanna meet back up later?”

Paul smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

Paul had work until 6, but he had to stay until 7 for a staff meeting. He told Daryl he could wait for him at his house if he wanted, which Daryl politely declined, but said he’d be by around 8. 

“Hey, Jesus.” Maggie greeted him as he walked behind the counter of the cafe.

“Hey,” he smiled. He definitely needed Maggie’s positive energy today.

She began wiping down the counter. “How was your night?”

Paul shrugged, wiping out mugs with a dish towel. “It was alright. How about yours?”

Maggie nodded. “Pretty good. Glenn said he saw you and Daryl at your place.” 

Paul felt his cheeks get hot and he tried to keep his composition. “Oh, yeah, he brought us pizza.”

“He does that.” she smirked. “So are you and Daryl...?”

“Barely. He’s uh…” Paul considered lying, but just rolled his eyes. “He’s helping me get rid of the ghosts in my house.”

Maggie snorted, then quickly hid her smile behind her hand. Paul looked at her, then breathed out a laugh due to the fact that it  _ was _ a bit ridiculous.

“I don’t mean to be nosy.” Maggie said. “I just...I’m glad you guys are hanging out.”

Paul smiled sheepishly. “Me too.”

The cafe picked up, and Paul was busy for the rest of the evening. The staff meeting didn’t last long, but in the middle of it, he got a text from Daryl:

_ Already in town after talkin to merle. Want me to pick you up at Greene’s? _

Paul got a rush of giddiness that he suppressed for the sake of being polite. He glanced outside; it was the point in the year where it didn’t get dark out until 8:30 PM, Paul’s favorite. After Maggie was done talking, he texted Daryl back telling him to meet him at Greene’s. When everyone was heading out, he walked out the front door to find Daryl smoking a cigarette. 

“Hey,” Paul smiled at him.

“Hey yerself,” Daryl replied.

“Where do you wanna go? Anywhere in particular?” Paul asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Had somewhere in mind. There’s a pond out by the Greene farm. It’s real nice at sunset, and I got beers in the truck.”

Paul nodded and hummed in approval. “Sunsets and beers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this sounds a lot like a date.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows. “You know better?”

Paul’s heart skipped and but he kept his composure. “Just sayin’, if you wanted to romance me, Dixon, it’s working.” Paul comically batted his eyelashes at Daryl and he rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.

“C’mon, ‘fore I change my mind about hangin’ out with you.” he said. “Got a lotta shit to tell you about.”

They took Daryl’s truck to the pond, and left Paul’s car at the Greene’s parking lot with Maggie’s permission. Paul looked out the window the whole ride there, watching the rolling farmlands of rural Georgia.

Daryl glanced over at him before looking back at the road. “How you likin’ it around here?”

Paul shrugged. “It’s nice. Most of my friends are here, so I like being able to see them more.”

Daryl nodded. “How long you known Maggie?”

“Since she gave me a job.” Paul laughed. “But we have a mutual friend, Tara. She told Maggie I needed a job when I moved down here, so I owe her for that. How about you?”

“Know her since she was a kid, maybe fourteen.” Daryl replied. “Used to be a farmhand for her dad.”

They pulled up on a dirt road leading up to a large pond surrounded by tall grass. They got out, Daryl carrying the beers, and walked to the sandy part leading up to the water. Daryl handed the beers off to Paul and walked back to the bed of the truck. He brought back a blanket, which he laid out on the sand and sat down on it. Paul smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. Daryl shrugged and patted the seat next to him on the blanket. 

Paul shook his head and sat. “It’s like a picnic, but with only beer.”

“Best kinda picnic.” Daryl cracked a beer and handed it to Paul.

“So, what’d you find?” Paul leaned toward Daryl as he lit up a cigarette and pulled a folder out of his bag. He opened it up so that it rested across both their legs and moved a bit closer to him. Paul was too aware of the heat coming off of Daryl so close to him that he didn’t know if he’d be able to focus on the information.

“Apparently my dad did know Judd Hawking.” Daryl explained, taking what looked like a photocopy of a photograph of a group of hunters. Daryl pointed at one man in the front, a rough looking redneck with a mean face.

“That’s my pa.” he said solemnly. His finger moved to the man next to him. “That’s Hawking.”

Paul nodded. “So they hunted together?”

“Yeah. Merle told me that Hawking and our pa used to run weapons together. My dad bought my crossbow off ‘em.” Daryl explained.

“Oh,” Paul said. “Oh, wow.”

Daryl grunted low in agreement.

Paul expected this whole situation would be hard to cope with, what with all the murder and vengeful ghosts, but now Daryl was connected to it on a personal level.

Paul took a deep breath and tried a more positive approach. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere.”

Daryl huffed and put the papers and folder next to him on the blanket. Paul returned the favor by handing Daryl a beer. He took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We’re gonna figure this out.” Paul said, staring out over the pond. “I can feel it. We’re getting close.”

When he looked at Daryl again, he had still been looking at Paul, eyes softened and one side of his mouth slightly lifted. Paul wanted to reach out his hand and lay it on Daryl’s cheek, but he didn’t think he himself could handle the rejection that might come with it. 

Daryl leaned their shoulders together and Paul froze. He relaxed his body into Daryl’s side, breathing in the fresh air and watching the sun settled just above the trees. The sky was still mostly blue, but there were tints of orange and pink scattered throughout. 

Paul rested his head on Daryl’s shoulder, fully admitting it to himself; He  _ really _ liked Daryl. He didn’t seem to mind Paul’s occasional flirting, even indulged it at times. But whatever this was...it was enough for now.

“You really think we can do this?” Daryl asked, leaning into Paul’s touch.

Paul smiled at the dual meaning to himself. “God, I hope so.”

The next afternoon, they began their real investigation. They took a trip to the Greene farm to find out some information from Hershel Greene, Maggie’s dad and the town veterinarian.

“Hershel knew my pa,” Daryl said as they drove down the gravelly Georgia backroads. “Maybe he knows somethin’ bout Hawking.”

“I guess that’s a good next step.” Paul nodded, cranking his window open just a bit more. It was the first severely hot day they had all year, June’s first week bringing hell with it. Paul wished the damn A/C worked, but he’d manage. He was actually starting to get used to Daryl’s truck, with its rusty doors and the way it creaked way more than it should have. It was familiar; comfortable. Strands of hair were flying around his face, so he put it back in a bun. He noticed Daryl look at him for a little too long, and he chuckled.

“What?” Paul asked.

Daryl cleared his throat and shrugged. “Nothin’. Never seen ya with your hair up. Looks nice.”

Paul smiled and looked down at his lap, then at the road. “Thanks. You should let me put yours up sometime.”

Daryl quirked an eyebrow and scoffed. Paul rested his arm on the center console, relaxing in the moment. A couple moments later, he felt Daryl’s arm rest next to his and their hands brushed. Paul didn’t look anywhere but the road, but he was still smiling.

When they got to the Greene farm, the first thing Paul noticed was the vastness of the place. There was just acres and acres of--no pun intended--green. There was a pond, a stable, a barn, a well, and a large farm house. It took Paul’s breath away.

“You worked here?” Paul gaped. “Maggie grew up here?”

“Yeah,” Daryl replied as they walked up the path to the house. “Hershel’s real nice, so’s his wife Annette.”

Daryl knocked on the door and not a moment later a woman with soft features and strands of hair falling in her face opened the door and smiled. 

“Daryl! Wonderful to see you.” she pulled Daryl into a hug which he returned with a smile.

She smiled warmly at Paul and hugged him as well. “Hi, I’m Annette.” 

“I’m Paul.” he said as they pulled away. “It's great to meet you. Maggie talks about you all the time.”

“Oh, that’s right! You work at the cafe, they call you Jesus, right?” she gave an exasperated laugh. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t been in for a while, Maggie’s just been doin’ so well with it all.”

She invited them in and they sat down in the dining room, then left to go get Hershel from his office.

“She might be one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.” Paul said.

Daryl nodded. “Sure is. She’s got an iron fist when she needs it. Raisin’ Maggie’s sister Beth wasn’t the easiest. Always had to get that kid out of trouble so her parents wouldn’t find out.”

Paul smiled then. “Maggie’s always on the phone with her at work. You guys were close?”

Daryl grinned and nodded. “Yeah. When she was a kid she always used’ta talk my ear off while I was workin’. Or she’d sing all the time. Stubborn as shit, but she’s a good kid. Weird havin’ her off at college.”

An older man with white hair came in then and gave Daryl a big smile. “Daryl, how are ya?” He shook hands with both of them. “Hershel Greene, very nice to meet ya.”

Paul shook his hand with a smile. “Paul, nice to meet you.”

“So, what do you boys need?” Hershel sat down at the head of the table.

“We were just wonderin’ if you knew Judd Hawking.” Daryl said as casually as he could. “He knew my pa and Paul just bought his house.”

“I know he died in ‘77, so I can’t say I know him anymore, but I suppose I did a bit. He used to bring his wife’s cat into the clinic sometimes. His wife loved the damn thing like a child, and Lord knows he had money, so he made sure it was always taken care of.” Hershel explained. “He was a serious man otherwise. A bit frightening, I’d heard, especially when it came to his business on the side.”

“Same business he ran with my pa.” Daryl said gruffly.

Hershel nodded solemnly. “Yes, that business.”

Paul looked at Daryl who was biting at his thumb. He seemed forlorn, like he was keeping everything in so he wouldn't have to think about his father.

“Sandwiches okay for lunch boys?” Annette called from the kitchen. Paul secretly thanked her for breaking the tension.

“Yes my dear, that would be lovely.” Hershel stood up and went into the kitchen to help her.

After lunch, Annette pulled Paul aside to help her do the dishes, and Hershel and Daryl went to sit on the porch. Paul dried the things that Annette washed, but he could hear Daryl and Hershel’s voices muffled outside. When he was done, Paul walked toward the porch door while Annette put some coffee on.

He could just barely hear Daryl and Hershel’s conversation. 

“How well did Hawking know my pa?” Daryl asked. “How deep in was he? What other shit did he do?”

“Son,” Hershel said. “Does it matter? It doesn’t affect the man that you are.”

Paul peeked out and saw Daryl puffing on a cigarette, contemplating. He motioned back inside with his hand.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.”

Hershel put a hand gently and comfortingly on Daryl’s shoulder. “I’ve been telling you since you were a kid, Daryl; You’re not your father, or your brother. You’ve always been much more.”

Paul jumped and turned around when Annette said his name. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just…”

“It's okay, honey.” she smiled. “how do you like your coffee?”

“Oh, just milk, please.” he said and began setting out the mugs Annette took from the cabinet. He went back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I have sort of a strange question.”

Annette nodded. “Maybe I have an answer.”

“Did you know Fiona Hawking?”

Annette set the coffee pot on and faced him. “Sort of. Hershel took care of her cat sometimes, but I knew her from church. She put together fundraisers, anything to keep the church goin’. Why?”

“I own her house now.” he replied. “Hershel told us about Judd, did he by any chance have a mistress?”

Annette’s face was a bit more solemn now, but she didn’t seem to want to ask more questions. “Well, once the...tragedy happened, everyone in the parish speculated that he was having an affair with his wife’s best friend, and it was hard to prove otherwise.”

Paul acted as oblivious as he could. “Who was her best friend?”

“Her name was Mariah. She and Fiona put together so many church events together, they were practically attached at the hip. But, betrayal definitely brought out the worst in Fiona Hawking. God rest her soul.”

“So, she’s dead?” he asked. There hadn't been a follow up on her prison sentencing, or really on the outcome of the story at all aside from the first article he found.

“Took her own life.” Annette shrugged then. “Nothin’ on it in the papers because the parish wanted to keep it hush hush.”

“That’s…” Paul’s chest ached. “That’s really sad.”

Annette sat down in a chair across from him. “Well, I got a question for you now,” she said, sipping her own coffee. “Are you and Daryl…” she shrugged. “Together?”

Paul choked on his coffee. He grabbed a napkin from the table and Annette patted him on the back lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she chuckled. “Bad timin’. He’d probably get all flustered if he knew I asked anyway.”

“Its okay,” he replied, clearing his throat one last time. He took a deep breath before answering. “We’re not together, we’re just...we’re friends.”

Annette tapped his arm with her finger. “I know that look of infatuation when I see it.”

He blushed. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“Oh, not you, darlin’,” she replied. “Daryl. I’ve only seen it on him with one other person, and that ship has sailed and sunk already.”

Paul’s face heated up and his heart jumped; he was a romantic cliché as he processed that  _ Daryl _ had looked infatuated. Over  _ him _ .

She patted his arm as Daryl and Hershel walked back in to sit at the table and drink their coffee.

“I talked to Bethy earlier,” Annette said, mostly to Daryl. “Have you talked to her lately?”

Daryl nodded. “Last week. She texted me a picture of a dog she saw on campus.”

Annette laughed, a beautiful sound really, and turned to Paul. “Daryl was always like the big brother to the kids, but he and Beth were always the closest.”

“Hard not ta be,” Daryl said. “Damn kid was always testin’ her limits.”

Hershel chuckled. “Bethy has always been a free spirit. She’s doing wonderful at school, though. Keeping her grades up.”

Daryl nodded. “Always been smart.”

Paul tried so hard not to stare at Daryl with cartoon heart eyes the rest of the time they talked about Beth. Hearing more about what Daryl meant to this family, and vice versa, made Paul absolutely melt.

When they left, Annette told them to come back anytime and Hershel said to let him know if they had anymore questions.

On the car ride back, Daryl was quieter than usual, obviously tense. Paul decided not to approach it yet, as he wasn’t sure how.

The rolling Georgia fields were passing by in a blur as they sped down the roads. Paul closed his eyes and let the summer breeze caress his face and lull him into a light doze before they got back to his place.

Daryl parked outside Greene’s and didn’t shut off the car.

Paul stopped before getting out. “You coming over?” 

Daryl was silent for a moment. “Nah, probably not a good idea.” 

“Oh?” Paul asked. “Why not?”

Daryl shrugged. “Somethin’ don’t like me in that house. I don’t wanna set it off.”

“Okay, so, what does that mean?” Paul raised an eyebrow.

Daryl didn’t look at him. “I shouldn’t be here anymore.”

“Hey,” Paul said softly, because he could feel Daryl distancing himself. “Nothing’s happened in a while. I really don’t think it's you.”

“I definitely ain’t helpin’.” he snapped.

Paul was taken back a bit, then sighed. “Daryl, c’mon--”

“‘M goin’ home.” Daryl huffed. He put the car back in drive and kept his foot on the brake to prove his point. He kept his eyes ahead of him while he waited for Paul to leave. 

Paul threw his hands up, frustrated. “Fine.” he got out of the car. “I’ll figure this out by myself.” he slammed the truck door and walked to his car to his house, not looking back. He heard the truck turn and peel back down the road before he even closed the driver side door. 

Paul asked Tara to come over and drink wine and talk about their romantic problems, but Tara said she actually had a hot date with a doctor that she was really excited about. So Paul had a glass of wine by himself to dim the overwhelming loneliness that came on all of a sudden, and took a nap on his couch. 

It couldn't have been more than an hour later when he was woken up to the sound of the front door slamming shut. He jumped out of his sleep, and got on his feet, ready to defend himself. Paul saw Daryl then, standing in the entrance to the living room. 

“Hi,” he said, walking over to Paul cautiously, as if Paul might spook or get angry.

“Daryl?” Paul asked. “I thought you didn’t want--”

Daryl had his hand on the back of Paul’s neck and his breath on Paul’s lips before he could finish his sentence. He was so wonderfully close to him, all Paul could smell was cigarettes and that musty sweet scent that was Daryl.

“Didn’ know what I wanted.” Daryl growled. He pushed his lips to Paul’s then, his other hand snaking around his waist to pull him closer. 

Paul was so confused at to what was happening, but for some reason he didn’t care. He was emotional, and this felt like it was helping. He just needed  _ more _ .

“Daryl, I..” Paul gasped for air as Daryl left bites and kisses all over his neck and throat. “I want you.”

That was all Daryl needed to hear before he laid them down on the couch and began grinding their hips together. Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head, he was dizzy with it. He clawed a hand into the angel wings on Daryl’s vest, Daryl’s hair falling down into his face as they kissed. 

Paul was desperate for skin to skin contact, he needed some sort of release. Before Daryl could finish unbuttoning his pants, Paul fell off of his couch and onto the floor, startled by a thump from right over his head. 

He looked around himself for a moment, wondering what the fuck just happened. He was fully clothed, he was alone, and he was horny as all hell. 

He wished he could have stayed in the dream, just for a little bit longer, but these things in his house kept interrupting everything. He felt angry all of a sudden; at Daryl, at the ghosts. At himself. 

Paul stomped up the stairs into his room and threw one of his pillows at the wall with a yell.

“What do you want?!” he yelled to the empty room.

The house got a bit darker, as if the sun overhead was completely covered by clouds. The air was almost electric, the only thing moving was Paul as he stormed through the house. He stomped to the kitchen, because why not lose his mind here too?

“I don’t know how to help you.” he yelled loudly, with the last of his energy, glad he didn’t have nearby neighbors. He sat on the floor, back against a cabinet, head in his arms over his knees. His voice was quiet now, helpless. “I don’t know how to help you.”

Paul didn’t know how much time passed while he sat on the floor, but when he looked up, the sun was setting, and the room around him was tinted pink. Part of it was the sun reflecting off the clouds, but he could tell that it was still a bit unnatural. It felt how it did when Daryl had slept over, almost dream like. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was awake. After the last dream he had, he apparently  _ didn’t _ know better. A woman walked into his kitchen, and it took him no time at all to recognize her as Fiona Hawking.

She stood in the doorway, her expression apologetic. There was a soft pink glow around her entire form, just barely noticeable in the tinted lighting. She didn’t say anything, but instead slowly walked over to him, took his hand, and stood him up. She led him to the living room.

The room was completely different. All of the furniture was old fashioned dark wood, with a pale yellow tablecloth on the coffee table, and a white floral couch. There were white gossamer curtains covering the windows, every breeze giving the space a calming atmosphere. 

Fiona let go of his hand and walked over to a photo album on the coffee table. She sat on the couch, the album on her lap, and patted the seat next to her. He sat, and watched as she flipped through the book to find a specific page. He found this strange, since all the pages she flipped through were completely empty. Finally, she stopped on the only page that had anything on it. 

It was a photo of Fiona and Mariah LaReaux, standing in a group outside of a church. Every person in the photo was out of focus, besides Mariah and Fiona. They stood next to each other, smiling as if they had shared an inside joke right before the photo was taken. Fiona looked sadly down at the photo, then she looked back up at Paul, resting her hand on his, then gave it a small squeeze.

“Find her.” was all she said before Paul was alone again. When he came back to himself, he was on his own couch. It was his living room again, not a thing out of place, and when he finally sorted his head out, his eyes widened and he realized what had just happened.

He grabbed his phone and called Daryl. He got his voicemail, no surprise, but he needed to let Daryl know what he had found out just in case he decided to stop being a flake.

“Daryl, it's Paul. I figured it out. Everyone thought that Mariah LaReaux was Judd Hawking’s mistress.” He explained. “But LaReaux wasn’t  _ his _ mistress. She was his wife’s.” He waited a second, then said, “Call me back when you get this.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to get real spooky

It had been a week since Paul had seen or heard from Daryl. When he asked Maggie, she said Daryl would be back to work the next week. Paul was frustrated; he felt like they were finally getting somewhere with their investigation, and now Daryl had ditched. Paul was antsy, he couldn’t lie. He had done all the research he could on how to find Mariah LaReaux’s grave, because he didn’t know what else ‘find her’ meant. He was still half creeped out that he’d actually met Fiona Hawking, but after he ruled out being completely insane, he was really happy. He had  _ something _ now, he had asked what to do and he got an actual response. He just wished Daryl was around to be happy about it too.

The work day went by relatively fast; it was their first busy summer day and Paul had plenty to do until he clocked out and left. When he got outside, he stopped in his tracks.

The sound of a motorcycle revving down the street filled the air, and a bike pulled up outside the front of Greene’s. Paul saw Daryl take off his helmet and push his hair back. He made eye contact with Paul, then nodded him over. He handed Paul a helmet, which Paul took without a word before getting on the back of the bike.

They rode for a while, but Daryl seemed to know where he was going. There was a point where the trees got thicker, and they entered the woods themselves, stopping just before a broken down shack way back towards the boondocks. Daryl stopped the engine and Paul swung his left leg off. He took off the helmet to get a good look at the dilapidated shack; shingles falling off the roof, wood rotting in most places. It looked like a stiff wind would send it crumbling.

“What is this?” Paul kept looking at the decrepit piece of real estate.

Daryl walked past him and toward the entrance. “‘I used to live here.”

Paul watched Daryl disappear inside and his face fell. He followed Daryl inside, still suspicious of the stability of the place.

He walked into a living room that was ransacked with trash. There were cigarette butts piled into a plastic basket shaped like a bra, and broken bottles of whiskey littered the small kitchen area. It smelled musty, dust covered every inch of the place. It was stale, the complete opposite of what Paul thought of a home to be. 

Paul stepped over clothes and broken furniture, making his way to Daryl, who was in a back bedroom.

“Daryl?” Paul found him sifting through a pile of papers. “What are you looking for?”

“Records.” Daryl said, focused on what he was doing. “The gun sales he did with Hawking, they gotta be here somewhere. That son of a bitch kept his bills ‘round here somewhere.”

“Gun sales?” Paul walked slowly over to him. “For what?”

Daryl didn’t answer as he sorted quickly through papers, and then threw it aside frantically as he started on the next pile. There were tons of stacks in this room, most of them worn from water damage or faded from the sun. Paul watched as Daryl ripped through all of them until he finally put a hand on his shoulder.

Daryl jerked away and threw an entire stack at the wall, papers fluttering all around them.  
“That motherfucker.” Daryl spat. “Where the fuck are they?” He kicked a 

pile of paper over. 

“Daryl.” Paul said firmly, trying to ground him back to the current moment. “Daryl.” 

Daryl swung around to look at him, eyes wide and glistening. Paul swore he felt his heart actually break as Daryl’s shoulders fell and his face just read defeat.

Paul walked toward him very carefully, like walking toward a cornered animal, and reached out his hand to take Daryl’s gently. Daryl flinched at first, but eventually relaxed. Paul pulled Daryl into him, embracing him with his arms around his neck, until Daryl put his head in Paul’s shoulder and sobbed lightly. 

“None of this is your fault.” he said firmly but quietly. “It's not you.”

Paul didn’t know how long they stood there for, but it was going to get dark soon. Daryl had cried, but after a bit there was only a small sniffle here and there. Paul decided then that keeping Daryl safe was one of his top priorities.

They left after the sun had set. Navigating the woods on the motorcycle seemed difficult, but Daryl didn’t seem to have a problem. 

Daryl agreed to stay over Paul’s house for the night after Paul pushed enough. He didn’t want to leave Daryl alone, and he could tell from the little reluctance that Daryl didn’t want to be alone.

They left Paul’s car at the cafe for the night since he had to work the next morning, and Daryl offered to give him a ride. When they got back, Daryl lit up a cigarette before going in.

“Jus’ wanna…” he shrugged. “I dunno. Gauge the atmosphere ‘fore I go in.”

Paul shrugged and sat in the chair across from Daryl. Daryl shifted in his seat uncomfortably, then settled and smoked his cigarette. He avoided eye contact and started fidgeting with his hands.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” Paul assured him, placing his hand on Daryl’s. “But if you do, I’m here.”

Daryl looked at him and nodded. Paul squeezed his hand and headed back inside. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a cold glass of water. It was humid out, and Paul could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He pulled his hair back into a bun and Daryl walked in the kitchen.

“How’s it feelin’?” Paul asked. 

Daryl shrugged. “S’alright. Doesn’t feel like the first time I was here.”

“Yeah, it's settled down a bit.” Paul said. “Now it's just…temperature changes and visions.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “Visions?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. That’s how I found out about Mariah and Fiona.” He recounted the experience in detail to Daryl, who insisted on knowing every bit of information. He bit his lip a lot, and chewed at his thumb, which Paul started to recognize as nervous quirks.

“‘Find her?’” Daryl asked quietly. “That’s all she said?”

Paul nodded. Daryl sighed.

“Well,” Daryl wiped his hands over his face. “I guess we find her.”

“Right…” Paul looked at Daryl “So how do we do that?”

Daryl shrugged. “Find the grave?”

“Okay, find Mariah’s grave.” Paul nodded. He noticed Daryl’s mouth quirk up. “What?”

“Y’all on a first name basis now?”

Paul rolled his eyes and smiled. “You jealous?”

Daryl scoffed and smiled. “Right.”

They stayed up for a while doing research on Paul’s laptop to figure out how to find Mariah’s grave. Paul had about four tabs open on his browser on how to contact a spirit at their grave, and two on how not to get cursed.

Daryl had been watching the screen silently as Paul scrolled and they read together.

“Oh shit,” Paul clicked on a link that led them to a website with a pink background and pictures of people with paragraphs written underneath. There were prayers, letters, little quips to dead loved ones.

“We already checked every obituary for the county.” Daryl hung his head back tiredly. “Got us nowhere.”

“Wait, this is different.” Paul scrolled the page. “These aren’t even obituaries. They’re tributes.” It took him a view page navigations and one browser crash before he finally saw that familiar face. 

“Holy shit, here it is.” Paul said, and Daryl sat up to look at the screen.

There were a few different letters written to Mariah, and her picture was a different one from her obituary. This one showed her with her hair down and curly, and she was laughing. 

Paul furrowed his brow. He read through the description under her picture which had her age, the year she died, and a short tribute. 

_ Mariah Auriele LaReaux was a shining light on all those who were fortunate to know her. She contributed greatly to the community and often volunteered at St. Francis Church. She is buried in Snakehead Burial Ground, by request of her family. _

“Snakehead Burial Ground.” Daryl said gravely. 

“You know where it is?” Paul asked.

Daryl nodded. “ The burial ground’s not really religious, more spiritual. Nothin’ bad, just...gotta go through the swamp.”

“What’s so bad about the swamp?”

“Some black bears, plenty of gators. My old house was right in that area, I know those woods better than anythin’.” Daryl explained.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wrestle any gators that come near us.” Paul smirked.

Daryl laughed and rolled his eyes. “You ever wrestle a gator?”

“No, but I’ve been taking on some new skills lately.” Paul shrugged. “Never thought I’d be contacting spirits in my day to day, but here we are.”

“Speakin’ of which,” Daryl said, pointing up. “Think you can ask her what she wants us to do next?”

Paul thought about it. He technically could, he had gotten a response before. “I guess?” Paul cleared his throat and felt self conscious all of a sudden. He had really only talked to Fiona when he was alone, and even though he knew Daryl wasn’t going to judge him, it felt weird.

“Fiona?” he said out loud, turning away from Daryl to make himself feel better. “We found her. Think you could help us with what’s next?”

There was silence. Paul frowned and looked around but noticed nothing strange. They waited about ten minutes, but nothing happened.

“Now what?” Daryl muttered.

Paul sighed, frustrated. He racked his brain until he remembered something important.

“Oh my god, I’m such an  _ idiot _ .” he said, louder than he meant to, causing Daryl to jump. “Sorry. Do you remember those letters we found? Maybe if we go through those again and put them together with what we know now, we’ll find a clue.”

Daryl nodded. “Where’d you put em?”

“I’ll be right back.” 

Paul came back down with the letters, along with his notebook he had written notes in, and they got to work. After reading through them, they decided that they were in fact from Mariah, and not written by Fiona and never sent like they originally thought.

“Okay, so the dates on these range from December 1976 to May 1977.” Paul said. “Mariah died on May 20, 1977.” 

“She was writin’ these until she died.” Daryl said quietly. Paul nodded solemnly, feeling the energy in the room shift. It was sad, mournful. 

The gist of most of the letters was forbidden romance. There were metaphors throughout, which Paul figured was their way of keeping it more on the cryptic side. How they’d get out one day, drive up north and be happy. How Fiona would leave her joyless marriage. Parts were poetic, talking about life and death and how they’d be buried together. Where no one could tell them not to be themselves, not to be with each other. Paul’s heart felt like it weighed a ton. When he thought about how difficult it must have been back then; being gay in the south during the 1970s hardly sounded ideal to him. Fiona and Mariah sounded like they were far ahead of their time. 

“Wait, here,” Daryl pointed to an excerpt from the poem. “it mentions when they would meet ‘where the snake’s head lay.’”

“The burial ground?” Paul asked. 

“S’just a guess.” Daryl shrugged. 

“That was where they’d meet to be together, and now Mariah’s buried there.” Paul worked it out slowly, realization creeping up his throat. “And Fiona wants to be with Mariah again. Fiona’s the only piece out of place.”

Daryl’s eyes went wide as he realized what Paul was suggesting. “Well, shit.”

“Shit.” Paul agreed.

The room got lighter, the previous sorrow gone, as if Fiona was satisfied with their conclusion. It was always a little tumultuous to Paul, Fiona’s immediate atmosphere changes. By the buzzing feeling in the room, it seemed this was the only way.

“Do you have a shovel?” Paul asked casually. “I only have one.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. We’ve come this far, what’s a little farther?”

“Gravediggin’s a  _ lot _ farther.” Daryl said tiredly, but by his tone Paul knew he had already won.

He felt a shiver run up his spine, a small breeze fluttering his hair. Despite the dark turn they had taken, the atmosphere felt...happy. 

Like they finally got something right. 


	6. Chapter 6

Life unfortunately got in the way, as it took another two weeks before Daryl and Paul could move forward with their plan. Daryl had serious work to do on the barn at the Greene’s farm before it got cold, and Paul had picked up some extra work at the cafe. He had also promised Tara to be around for the Fourth of July weekend so they could celebrate together. 

The house had been pretty quiet during the waiting period. Nothing too bad, just an occasional shadow out of the corner of Paul’s eye. Either Fiona knew that they had time restraints, or she didn’t care because now there was a cat in the house.

The cat did stick around, and Paul decided to name her Rosie, due to her love of the many cherokee roses that grew in his backyard. She mostly sat on his lap, or on his laptop keyboard when she decided he was done with research and needed to pay attention to her. Also whenever he worked out she would find some way to perch on him. He did use some free time to go to the pet store and buy the necessities for Rosie. She now had a little bed next to his upstairs, though it barely got much use after she claimed the bed as her preferred sleeping spot. He put her food and water bowls on a mat next to the kitchen table. He put her new toys on the floor in the living room, and her treats and food in the cabinet, a little giddy at having a cat around. He realized that it felt right to have Rosie here. It was almost as if she had been there all along. 

At night he researched more and more about where Fiona was buried. He found that she was not buried with her husband, at the request of his family, so that was a bust. He couldn’t really find anything other than that; it was like after she died, everyone ignored that she existed at all. He researched for hours until his head hurt and then he would call it quits for the night. 

On Thursday he sat with Tara at their favorite frozen yogurt shop. The Fourth was that Saturday, so they wanted to get a plan together.

“So, we’re not doing the beach trip like we usually do?” Paul asked, finishing off his yogurt.

Tara shook her head. “Nah, I was planning on going lowkey this year. Rosita and Abe broke up, so that would be weird. Sasha’s away for that weekend, and Maggie and Glenn are with the Greene’s.”

Paul nodded. “Do you wanna just go out and party, me, you, and Denise?”

“And Daryl? I’m dying to meet him.” Tara smirked. “You see him lately?”

“We hung out a couple weeks ago.” Paul said. “He may have slept at my house.”

Tara’s eyes widened and she tried to hold back a smile.

“Nothing happened.” he assured her. “I haven’t seen him since then anyway.”

“Have you talked to him?  
Paul avoided Tara’s eyes. “Yes, we’re friends. Just like me and you.”

“Hardly,” Tara snorted. “I’ve never met someone so in denial, man, but I’m glad I’m going to help reunite you on the fourth.”

“I don’t even know if he’ll say yes.” Paul said through a mouthful of frozen yogurt. 

“Bet you ten bucks he does.” Tara smirked.

“You’re on.”

Paul called Daryl that night to ask him about Saturday. 

“It’ll be me, you, Tara, and Denise. Lowkey, but it’ll be fun.” Paul explained. “Unless you have other plans.”

Daryl took a second, then said. “Sounds fun. I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” Pauled smiled. There was a loud meow coming from down at his feet.

Daryl chuckled into the phone. “How’s she doin’?”

“She’s good. Very cuddly.”

“Sounds like you two make a good pair.” Daryl said with a smirk in his voice.

Paul’s face got hot; so he _ had _ known that Paul had cuddled him last time he slept over, oh _ god _.

“So, I’ll see you Saturday?”

“See you Saturday.”

They met at Paul’s house before meeting up with Tara and Denise at the strip of bars downtown. Daryl picked him up in his truck, and he said goodbye to the cat on the way out, making sure she had food and water. He got into the truck, admiring Daryl’s...well, everything. He had on a black button down shirt, jeans without any rips, and his hair was washed and pushed back. Paul was going to have a tough time not totally drooling over him like some dumb kid with a crush.

“Hey,” Paul said as he climbed into the truck. “You look really nice.”

Daryl puffed on his cigarette. “So do you.”

They drove into town, the streets filled with people drinking, and managed to find a spot in a parking lot a couple streets over. They met Tara and Denise at a margarita bar and made their introductions. They all gathered around a table outside with their drinks.

Tara and Paul talked about all the gossip in their friend group, mostly about Abe and Rosita. Rosita had apparently gone to be with her family out in California for the holiday, to get away for awhile. Paul understood that more than he wanted to admit. He reminded himself to text her later on.

“So, Daryl,” Tara started. “Paul told me you have a motorcycle. How much would it cost for you to teach me how to ride one?”

“You’re seriously going to ride a motorcycle?” Denise laughed. “What if you get hurt?”

“Well, good thing I have a doctor handy.” Tara gave Denise a buzzed and totally smitten smile. 

Daryl swigged his beer and shrugged. “I can just teach ya. Pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Fuck yeah,” Tara said. “I’m holding you to that.”

Daryl smiled at Paul and he smiled back. Daryl got along with his friends, was planning on spending even more time with his friends. He tried so hard to hide how happy he was but he knew Tara saw right through it.

They ended up going to two other bars, and they were fairly hammered by eleven thirty. They were on the patio with their new drinks until Denise excitedly recognized a song on in the bar and she and Tara ran inside to dance to it. This left Paul and Daryl outside to drink together. Daryl smoked a cigarette and Paul tried to keep himself steady.

“Having fun?” Paul asked. 

“I am.” Daryl replied, putting his cigarette in the dispenser. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Anytime,” Paul said. “It's nice to hang out with you without all the ghost stuff.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, it is. We should do it more.”

Paul grinned. “Speaking of, when do you wanna start that up again?”

“I’m free Monday. Got a couple things to do tomorrow ‘round my apartment.” Daryl replied, “But I’m around that night.”

“Awesome. The team’s back together.” he patted Daryl’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you, me, and the cat.” he smirked at Paul. “C’mon, I’ll get ya ‘nother beer.”

They found Tara and Denise at the bar ordering one more drink. “You guys ready for fireworks?”

Paul checked his phone and giggled. “It’s late, dude.”

“They do them later on the strip.” Denise said over the music. “It’s great to watch drunk.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Paul raised his drink.

They went out to the patio and stood among the crowd of people waiting for the show. As they started the display, Paul watched all the colors explode and smiled. He glanced up at Daryl to find him already looking back. Paul glanced to his lips but held himself back. Instead he gave Daryl a drunken grin and he laughed back. Tara was standing behind Denise with her arms around her, happily kissing her every so often. Paul ached for that; they were so happy.

Daryl had shifted closer to Paul at some point, and their hands touched for longer than just a brush by. Paul thought _ Fuck it, _ and took Daryl’s hand. 

Daryl didn’t let go, even squeezed his hand, and Paul thought this was enough for now. A step. 

The four of them waited for their Ubers outside of the bar, Denise and Daryl talking about something or another. Tara pulled Paul aside and gave him a lopsided smile. 

“What?” Paul giggled.

“You two. Oh my _ god _.” Tara laughed. “Me and Denise noticed it all night.”

“Yeah, okay, everyone knows I have a big stupid crush on him.” Paul slurred. 

“Thank you for finally fucking admitting it.” Tara hiccuped. “But dude, when you’re not looking, he absolutely _ drools _over you.”

Paul swayed a bit, wrapping his head around that. Huh. He heard Annette’s voice in his head telling him Daryl was infatuated with him. He shivered despite the eighty degree weather.

Denise called them over as their cars arrived and Tara just nudged him and whispered “don’t do anything I would do.”

They agreed that Paul would drive Daryl to his car in the morning. They walked to the front door at one AM with Daryl’s arm swung around Paul’s shoulders and Paul’s around Daryl’s back. When they opened the door the cat was waiting in the foyer. She meowed at them sweetly, welcoming them back. Paul bent down and gave her an ear scratch and she pushed up against Daryl’s legs. He crouched down to pet her and she purred loudly.

Paul went to the kitchen and filled two glasses of water, and brought one out to Daryl. He muttered “thanks” and sipped it as they sat in the living room. Paul was only slightly less sober than when they left the bar, and without all the lights and music, he finally noticed how close Daryl had been with him all night. The man was significantly more touchy when he was buzzed, which still wasn’t a lot but it was something. Paul’s brain told him to reel it in, to keep his fucking hands to himself, maybe splash the glass of water on his face to stay cool. 

Daryl looked at him, eyes half lidded and a content look on his face. He looked peaceful, serene. Paul noticed the light in the room get softer, feeling more and more like the last time Fiona had altered their atmosphere. Paul looked around, and felt a small bit of giddiness. He wanted to laugh; the ghost in his house was trying to play matchmaker. 

_ God, not you too _. He thought and he could have sworn he heard a quiet giggle somewhere. He rolled his eyes and chuckled.

Daryl raised an eyebrow and grinned. “What?”

“Nothing.” Paul shrugged. “Just thinkin’.” 

He was torn up inside about how to handle his current situation. He had always tried to keep his distance from people, never getting too close. Pushing people away and cutting ties was his specialty. A moment like this was usually when he got that all telling tug in his stomach that _ maybe this _ could _ happen _ , followed immediately by _ RUN _ . But the latter part didn’t come this time. He felt warm, and just being around Daryl made him feel happy. He would never even think about giving someone his full affection or attention, but when he was with Daryl it was all he could think about. He knew Daryl liked guys, but did he like _ him _? 

“Thinkin’ bout what?” Daryl asked, setting his water on the coffee table.

Paul looked at Daryl’s lips again, totally on instinct, and then met his eyes. He watched as Daryl’s eyes widened in realization; he was caught. 

Daryl seemed to come to, and he met Paul’s eyes again. He didn’t look freaked out as much he looked...skeptical? Paul’s heart was still racing, but thoughts of ABORT MISSION had stopped flashing in his head. The cat meowed as she sat in the doorway of the room, disrupting the silence. Paul looked over at the cat, but Daryl was still looking at him.

Paul cleared his throat and stood up slowly, as not to stumble. “Think I’m gonna head upstairs. Super tired.”

Daryl nodded somberly. “Night. Drink your water.”

As soon as Paul got to his room he let out a huge breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. That was it, then. Daryl definitely knew what Paul had been thinking about, how he had been wanting him to kiss him and oh _ god _.

He ran his hands through his hair and chugged the rest of his water. He stripped his tank top off and switched his jeans with sweatpants and passed out in his bed. 

Paul was woken up by a clap of thunder. He sat up in bed and looked out the window. The wind had picked up and lightning lit the sky up completely. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He heard a knock on his open door then, seeing Daryl standing there with the cat. 

“Hey,” Paul said. “What’s up?”

Daryl walked in the room slowly. “She got scared.” he set the cat on the bed. She curled up at the end of it, snuggled into the covers.

Paul noticed Daryl was watching the window and flinching when the thunder struck. _ Sure, _ she _ got scared _.

“Daryl,” Paul got his attention. Daryl looked over and Paul patted the spot on the bed next to him. Daryl settled in next to Paul so they were facing each other. 

“Thanks.” Daryl said quietly. “Didn’ wanna sleep alone.”

Paul’s heart tightened and he admired how vulnerable Daryl looked. He reached out and took Daryl’s hand. “You don’t have to.”

Daryl gave his hand a squeeze, and that was the last thing Paul remembered before falling asleep.

_ A full moon bright over a field, the water from the creek nearby babbling, the warm breeze swaying the tall grass this way and that. _

_ A shrill, high pitched scream. Its bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You recognize the terrified pleading that you hear just up ahead. You know it’s her.  _

_ You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the bones, the gashes and… _

_ Your hand flies down to the pocket of your pants. It closes around the handle of the pistol, until you point it up at the culprit with the crossbow.  _

_ “There.” _

Paul didn’t startle awake this time, but the sound of Fiona’s voice what felt like right next to his ear unsettled him. He turned over and found Daryl still passed out. The cat was nowhere to be found, so he laid there and sighed. Daryl stirred and turned toward Paul. Paul’s stomach fluttered, so he cleared his throat and sat up.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’.” Daryl got off the bed, not looking at Paul. Paul was silently praying that he wouldn’t. When Daryl did finally look at him, his eyes widened a bit then looked away quickly before Paul realized he was still shirtless. His whole body felt like it was on fire and Daryl seemed just as embarrassed as he did and quietly muttered he was going to the bathroom. 

Paul put his face into a pillow and groaned. 

_ Daryl slept in your bed with you and it was no big deal _ , he repeated in his head over and over. He got up and pulled open the dresser drawer and put on a t-shirt. He walked to the open window, drawn to the warm breeze, the smell of last night’s rain wafting in the window. He looked out at his backyard, where his property ended and the tall grass lead to the forest. He got lost in his head as his eyes scanned for the exact spot of the murder. He wanted to know if he could see it from here; if Fiona had been able to see it.

“Y’okay?” Daryl startled him.

Paul nodded and rubbed his eye. “Yeah. Had another dream.”

Daryl looked concerned. “What happened?”

Paul explained the dream, the unsettled feeling in his stomach turning into sadness. Daryl squeezed Paul’s shoulder and gave him a sad smile. 

“Hey,” he said. “‘Least we know what we gotta do next.”

Paul sighed and took Daryl’s hand that was on his arm and held it. He didn’t really know when he got so bold--maybe it was the frustration, or how much more open he and Daryl had become with each other lately. He yearned so fucking much, and with every touch it felt more and more like hell.

Rosie meowed loudly from the doorway, signaling to Paul that it was time for breakfast. Paul sighed and got out of bed.  _ Great timing,  _ he thought.

“She won’t stop yelling at me if I don’t feed her now.” he said, face still a bit flushed.

Daryl scratched Rosie’s head. “I get it.”

The cat followed them to the kitchen, where Paul filled her bowl with dry food. There were little crunching sounds as she practically inhaled the food, followed by a satisfied chirp.

“Christ, you ever feed that cat?” Daryl asked from the doorway, leaning against the frame. “She’s actin’ like she’s never seen food.”

“You’d never be able to tell by looking at her.” Paul shrugged. Rosie was a pretty standard weight when she first came around, but she was definitely getting pudgy. “She just really loves food.”

Daryl was looking at the cat intently. He met Paul’s eyes and looked back down. Paul definitely wasn’t going to make the next move; if Daryl wanted something from him, he’d have to make that step. If that was even what Daryl wanted.  _ Christ _ .

Daryl looked focused, completely inside his own head.

“You good?” Paul asked, and Daryl’s head shot up, as if Paul’s presence had startled him.

He nodded and bit his lip, and he finally looked at Paul. “Jus’ thinkin’ about what we gotta do now.”

Paul shook his head and put a finger up to stop him. “You know what? New rule; no ghost talk before 11 AM. We need coffee first.”

Daryl tried to hide a grin while he retrieved two mugs and Paul made coffee. They went out to the porch for Daryl to have a cigarette and because it was just so goddamn nice out. The road was still wet, but the sun was out and the air smelled like rain. 

“What’s she like?” Daryl asked.

Paul didn’t have to ask who he meant. “She’s...actually really sweet.” He thought about his interactions with Fiona. “When we first saw that wedding photo of her and Judd, I thought she looked timid, meek. But now...I feel like I know her. And she’s a fucking force of nature.”

Daryl smiled, honest to god full on  _ smiled, _ and Paul thought he might die. 

“Yeah, I caught that.” He said, exhaling smoke. “Does she uh…” his voice was a bit quieter, gruffer. “Does she not want me here?”

Paul grinned then, because christ. Now that he had started talking to Fiona, she’d practically been setting the mood for them. 

“No, she likes you.” he said.

“How do you know?” Daryl narrowed his eyes.

“I just know.” Paul said, nudging his shoulder. “I get it, you want my roommate’s approval cause you’ve been staying over a lot.”

“Yeah, I guess when you think about it.” Daryl smiled. 

“So you  _ are _ gonna start staying over more.” Paul smirked.

Daryl scoffed a laugh and put his cigarette out.

“Let’s get to work.” 


	7. Chapter 7

They planned on leaving at around midnight. They’d start by going to Snakehead and finding Mariah’s grave first. They had a shovel, a flashlight, and Daryl’s crossbow. Paul brought a few of his knives, one strapped to his leg and one in his hand. They stood outside in Paul’s backyard and looked out over the field that separated them and the edge of the woods. They looked at each other and Daryl nodded solemnly. 

They walked through the tall grass until they reached the edge of the woods. Paul’s chest felt hollow by the time they stopped at the sight of the murder. 

Paul fought to get the next words out. “What if we’re wrong? What if it doesn’t work?”

Daryl gave a small shrug and an earnest look. “Then we try again.”

Paul’s heart tugged. He took a deep breath and looked around, taking in the familiar scene that had haunted his dreams for most of the summer. Daryl had his crossbow in hand, carrying it as he listened around them. They kept up with each other; the farther they got the darker it got and the trees and air were both becoming thicker. Paul had to put his hair up to get it off his neck, which was covered in sweat. 

They were in the swamp now, following a river that led through twisted trees and marsh. Their boots were muddy and Paul’s sweatshirt was covered in leaves and brambles. Daryl had just worn his vest over his short sleeve shirt, roughing it through the thorns and bug bites. They eventually got to a large clearing of flat land that was bordered with small bushes and littered with crosses and tombstones. Every grave had a small lantern on it, lit and flickering. It was so peaceful. 

Daryl and Paul split up to read the graves until they found Mariah’s. As Paul examined a peculiar looking stone he felt something brush up against his leg, and when he looked down he saw a cat. She was purring and squinting her eyes, then she looked up and meowed at him. He reached down and she sniffed his hand and headbutted it. He scratched her behind the ear, then she shook and trotted off. He watched her go, then she stopped and turned around to meow at him. She kept trotting, so he followed her. If video games had taught him anything, it was always trust the animal guide. She led him over a small hill, then down to a grave with red roses and beautiful crosses on it. In the center was a picture of Mariah LaReaux. Paul kneeled down and admired the work that went into this. The fresh roses showed that it had been kept up with regularly.

The cat meowed again and sat by the grave. She licked her paw and laid down, looking up at him. He scratched her chin and smiled as he heard footsteps behind him.

“A cat helped you find a grave,” Daryl knelt down next to him, holding his hand out to the cat. “And that ain’t even the weirdest part of our week.”

Paul admired how gentle Daryl was with the cat. He knew Daryl could be tender, he had been that way with Paul a handful of times now, and he supposed Daryl would be the type to like animals.

“What do we do now?” Daryl asked softly.

“We decide.” Paul whispered back. “Are you sure you’re up for digging up a body?” 

Paul’s anxiety was back, thinking about the actual act of taking someone’s bones from the ground and moving them to another grave. He shivered and looked back down at the cat.

Daryl nodded. “I’m with you.” he then nudged Paul as they looked at the cat. “What do you think her deal is?”

Paul smiled. “I’m sure we’ll see her again and maybe we’ll find out.”

When they got back to the edge of the swamp, they heard something. Paul bumped into Daryl who had stopped in his tracks and was listening closely to their surroundings. He rushed them behind a tree where they most likely wouldn’t be seen in the darkness. When Paul really listened, he heard twigs cracking in the distance, at first only here and there. As they got closer, they sounded more like something walking.

Daryl held up a finger. After a moment, he said, “It’s a person. No--a couple of people. Male, sounds like they’re staggerin’ around drunk.”

Paul was impressed at Daryl’s specifics. They peeked around the corner and could make out three figures walking through the trees about fifty feet away. One of them was talking loudly, slurring and ranting on about god knows what. Daryl listened intently, his eyes narrowed and his head tilted toward the sound. His face dropped, and Paul knew something was wrong.

“We gotta get outta here.” Daryl put his hand on Paul’s shoulder, turning him around and maneuvering him away from where they were hiding.

“Daryl--”

“Don’t talk, just move.” Daryl replied gruffly. Paul obeyed, tiptoeing carefully among the brush. Daryl was just as quiet, as Paul had learned was standard for him. You couldn’t hunt or track if you weren’t sneaky.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Daryl revved the engine almost before Paul was securely in the truck. They sped up the dirt road, the open windows blowing the loose strands of hair around Paul’s face. He left it alone until they pulled up to the house, let his hair out of its bun, and barely making it to the living room before asking anything.

“What happened back there?” Paul frowned, sitting on the couch next to Daryl. 

Daryl stayed silent. Paul thought that was the end of it, as usual he would get no answer, no explanation. 

Daryl stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Paul asked, concerned.

“If we’re gonna talk about feelings,” Daryl kept walking. “‘M gonna need whiskey.”

Daryl came back with the bottle and took a swig from it, then handed it to Paul and sat back on the couch. Paul took a drink, then licked his lips and gestured for Daryl to go on.

“Those guys out there, I recognized the voices.” Daryl finally said. “That was my brother and our cousins.”

Paul arched an eyebrow. “I thought your brother was in jail.”

Daryl stared straight ahead, not looking at Paul, lest he give away his vulnerability. “He got out this week. He’s not exactly--” Daryl cleared his throat. “He’s...complicated.”

“Complicated?” Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Daryl said finally. “Drugs, dealin’ and usin’. Drinks too much, yells almost as much as our pa.”

Paul figured he was allowed to take Daryl’s hand; they seemed to be at that point, which Paul considered a victory. He doubted that there were many people Daryl Dixon allowed to touch him in any way on a regular basis.

“Are you--were you close?” Paul asked.

“We were,” Daryl shrugged. “He’s older than me by ‘bout ten years, got put away a lot when I was a kid. Juvie first, then he got kicked outta the marines, then ended up in prison a couple times. I love him, he’s my brother, but…”

Paul squeezed his hand, receiving a squeeze back. Daryl sighed, but pressed on.

“He was no good for me. I traveled around Georgia with him for a while, gettin’ odd jobs here and there while he got high and slept around.” Daryl explained. “When we moved here nine years ago, I made friends. I found people who cared about me and took care of me when I needed it. Rick, Carol, Hershel; they all gave me a chance.”

Paul nodded, reaffirming. “It’s nice that you have people around you who cared.”

Daryl nodded. “Dunno what I’d do without ‘em. You’ll get to meet ‘em eventually.”

Paul tried to hide his smile. “Looking forward to it.”

Daryl drank more whiskey. “So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

Daryl shrugged. “What’s your family like?”

Paul shrugged. “I lived in foster care until I was adopted when I was twelve. I can’t imagine adopting a preteen who’s already learned how to fight, then having to raise them through the most tumultuous time of their life, so I give my parents props.”

Daryl smiled at that, nudging him to keep going.

“My mom’s a doctor, my dad’s an architect. I grew up in a nice neighborhood, and took martial arts as soon as I turned thirteen. That’s all I got.”

The drunker they got, Daryl had talked a bit more about Rick and Michonne and their family, and the Greenes and Glenn. Paul told Daryl about his ex Alex, about him and Tara’s friendship, about his time in foster care. He never in his life thought he’d be talking about this with anyone so freely, he hadn’t even told Tara half this stuff. He was either drunker than he realized or completely okay with talking to Daryl forever.

At some point, they had fallen asleep, and Paul woke up at nine AM with his head on Daryl’s chest. Daryl was leaning against the arm of the couch, head resting on the back of it, legs stretched out. Paul was nestled against Daryl’s chest, Daryl’s arm slung across Paul’s lap. He wanted so desperately to stay like that, but he also didn’t know if Daryl knew that they were full on cuddling. Paul carefully climbed off of Daryl and made his way to the kitchen. He put on a fresh pot of coffee and as it gurgled, he let out a slow exhale. He needed to cool himself down. 

He heard a small ‘meow’ come from outside the back door. He tilted his head and opened it, revealing the calico cat from the cemetery. She walked in and did a figure eight around his legs, then walked into the kitchen. He shut the door and laughed.

“You followed us?” he watched as she rubbed herself on every surface of the kitchen. “And now you’re making yourself right at home.”

Paul bent down and went to pick up the cat cautiously, and she let him without issue. He held her like a baby; she was small, her face resembling a kittens, but she was definitely an adult.

“How did you know where to follow us?” he asked in a soft voice. “I don’t actually care, you’re welcome here anytime, I heard the original owners liked cats.” 

He walked into the living room to find a sleepy eyed but an awake Daryl on the couch. 

“What the hell?” he said.

“Guess we have a new friend.” Paul said, setting the cat on the couch. She immediately meowed at Daryl, who put his hand out for her to nuzzle. 

“She must be real smart.” Daryl said. “And tough to make it all the way out here by herself.”

Paul smiled and Daryl looked up at him. Paul bit his lip. “Guess so.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're in the homestretch friends. lots of mentions of human bones, and grave digging.

It was nice enough outside, the humidity having gone down a bit. They got to work on sorting notes, and planning out how their little trip later was going to go. In the late afternoon, they decided to take a break. They got a pizza, a bottle of bourbon courtesy of Daryl, and they were ready to get back to work. 

At one point, Rosie made her way out to them and meowed as she rubbed up against Paul’s side. She made her way over to Daryl and immediately jumped into his lap.

They set aside their notes to pay attention; the only sound was the wind rustling the tall grass. 

Paul looked at Daryl; the tint of the sun was shining on his face. He looked solemn.

“What’s up?” Paul asked gently.

Daryl shrugged, pushing his hair out of his face. “‘S just sad. All the shit they been through.” he gestured back towards the house. “‘M just...I’m glad you asked me to help.”

“Cause I’d die otherwise?” Paul nudged him. 

Daryl shook his head and nudged him back. “Nah. I know you can take care of yourself. Feel bad for anyone who’d underestimate you.”

Paul laughed, light and airy, and noticed Daryl’s own grin and it made him even happier. 

“I  _ can _ take care of myself,” Paul said. “But it's still nice to have someone to watch your back.”

Daryl leaned his shoulder onto Paul’s and Paul tried not to sink into him completely.

Paul sipped the bourbon then handed it back to Daryl, and contemplated if he wanted to say something this vulnerable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like that.” he admitted.

Daryl nodded. “Me either. Thought I did, at one point.”

“Yeah?” Paul wasn’t sure he wanted to hear, but he was intrigued. 

Daryl shrugged. “This guy I dated.” he bit at his thumbnail a bit. “Martinez.”

Paul felt his stomach sink a little. “What happened?”

“We were both stubborn. We were okay a lot of the time but...sometimes we’d get in real loud fights. I’d go sleep out in the truck and he’d have to come get me and we’d make up and be fine. Sometimes I’d drink too much. Sometimes he’d get too flirty with someone else. It was fine til it all built up and exploded.” He took a swig of his bourbon. “It was nice most of the time. But there were things we couldn’t ignore forever. Learned that the hard way.”

Paul nodded and looked down. “I’m sorry. That sounds like it really sucked.”

Daryl shrugged. “For the best, I guess.”

Paul sighed. He didn’t know why he was all of a sudden eager to share his life, but he went with it. “I was with someone—sort of—up in Virginia. We were casual for a while, never put a label on it.”

Daryl nodded and fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit one and blew the smoke into the air. “What happened?”

“He went back to his boyfriend and I moved down here.”

“ _ That _ sounds like it sucks.”

Paul gave a small laugh. “Yeah, but I knew what I was getting into. I knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

Daryl looked at the bottle, then handed it to Paul with a sympathetic face. Paul took it and downed a bit of it, handing it back to Daryl and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He watched as Daryl took a drag of his cigarette and blew it out to the horizon, the setting sun shaping him in a silhouette, his hair blowing around a bit. Paul wished he could have taken a picture, or frozen time, anything to keep that moment alive.

“Well,” Daryl said, gathering up his stuff. “Guess we should get goin’. Gonna get dark quick.”

Paul agreed and they brought all the notebooks, pencils, and the cat inside. When they were settled, they ate leftover pizza and started packing up. By the time they were done, it was just before dark. Twilight lingered in the sky as if trying to give them a chance to get through the swamp before dark. Daryl ran out to his truck to get his crossbow, then met Paul around back. Paul had made sure to lock all the doors so Rosie couldn’t follow them.

Paul made sure his knives were there, and buttoned up his trench coat. Better safe than sorry if they ran into an animal, and it had more room to carry...well, what they were planning on carrying. They walked to the edge of the property with the shovels and just stood looking down at the gravesite. Once they began unearthing this, there was no going back. Fiona’s bones--her actual human  _ bones _ \--were under there, and they had to carry them all the way from the road to the burial ground. It turned Paul’s stomach a bit.

He sighed, and began digging. It took Daryl a moment to follow suit, but eventually he began picking at the dirt alongside Paul. There was a bit of digging, and about four feet down, they hit a wooden box. Paul and Daryl met eyes and Paul nodded for them to keep going. They moved all the dirt off and both lifted the lid off with all they had. It came off fairly easily, being held together by rusty nails. Daryl reached into his pocket and dug out his bowie knife, then used it to lift up the nails. It looked more difficult than Paul thought it would, taking out his own knife and working on them as well. They eventually got it undone, dirt spilled out of the sides when it cracked open. Daryl looked at Paul before pulling it up any further, and Paul eventually gave him the go ahead. 

She was there, though not all of her. She was missing a few bones in her legs, and her clothes and jewelry were gone. 

“Did she get--” Paul tried to form the words through his rage. “Someone fucking grave robbed her? Are you kidding?”

Daryl stayed quiet. Paul expected him to be all matter of fact, to point out that grave robbing was essentially what they were doing--but he didn’t. He just sat there quietly while Paul raved.

“Fuck,” Paul said a bit loudly. “What the fuck would someone need bones for anyway?”

“Maybe someone already tried this.” Daryl suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe someone who cared about Fiona wanted her to be with Mariah,” Daryl said. “Or maybe someone wanted some sorta twisted revenge.”

Paul’s head was spinning, he’d never thought of that. He figured all traces of Fiona Hawking were gone away with her. He hadn’t thought of someone caring enough to do this, besides him. He wondered if it could have been Mariah’s family, if they had ever met Fiona or liked her. He wondered if they had known the truth. Paul didn’t want to think about the other end, of someone hating Fiona that much. There was still a bit of anger bubbling in his chest, but he suppressed it for the moment.

“Well,” Paul said finally. “Guess we start packing.”

Paul reached in the coffin, but when he grabbed the first bone, he felt like he got the breath knocked out of him.

  


_ A shrill, high pitched scream. Its bloodcurdling, causing your body to freeze in fear. Panic sets in. Running, your legs carrying you as fast as they possibly can. You recognize the terrified pleading that you hear just up ahead. You know it’s her.  _

_ You hit the treeline, stopping in your tracks as you step in fresh blood, your boots sticky with it. You look in front of you, eyes widened in horror as your brain tries to comprehend the blood, the bones, the gashes and… _

_ Your hand flies down to the pocket of your pants. It closes around the handle of the pistol, until you point it up at the culprit with the crossbow.  _

_ Your husband. _

_ “What the fuck did you do?” your voice shakes, high pitched and hysterical. “What the fuck did you do?!” _

_ Mariah is lying on the ground, an arrow through her heart. You see Judd snarl and lurch towards you-- _

_ BANG. _

  


Paul would have fallen over if Daryl hadn’t caught him. 

“Hey,” Daryl helped him upright again. “Hey, careful.”

Paul physically shook himself all over to get rid of the eerie feeling. He had to breathe, bring himself back to the present moment.

“I saw it,” he said calmly. “I saw the murder. When I picked up the bone, it just sort of...transported me there.”

Daryl nodded to Paul’s hands. “You were wearin’ gloves though.”

Paul shrugged. “Guess leather isn’t ghost proof.”

Daryl gave a small huff of a laugh at that. It made Paul feel significantly less shitty. 

They finished packing up the bones without further incident, and brought them all back to the truck. They stuck them in a knapsack under the tarp in the back, god forbid they get pulled over.  _ Hello officer. Oh, these? These are just backpacks full of a human’s bones so she can be with her lover again in death.  _ Paul thought.  _ Christ. _

They reached the path that led to the burial ground and parked off to the side of the road. It was late, and no one was around. They grabbed the bags out of the back and headed into the woods. They walked without a word at first, trying to be as stealthy as possible. 

Daryl stayed close to his side for as long as they walked to the burial ground. Paul could tell it was less so because Daryl felt he needed to protect him, and more because he wanted to, and he knew Paul would do the same for him. Or maybe it was just his mind that wanted to believe it.

After their trek through the swamp, they reached the entrance to the burial ground. They looked at each other and took a deep breath.

“You ready?” Daryl asked.

Paul nodded, feeling a little more confident. They had to do this; for Fiona, for Mariah, for how hard they had worked.

They found Mariah’s grave fairly quickly, retracing their steps from last time. They looked upon the headstone and then at each other. Paul put his bag down on the ground and Daryl followed. They began digging, occasionally looking around to make sure the coast was clear. They dug in shifts, trading off who would keep an eye out. It was dark in the graveyard, save for the small lamps on some of the graves. They could see enough of what they were doing, and when they finally hit something sturdy, they looked at each other with wide eyes and kept digging. They were faced with a wooden coffin that was nailed shut. Daryl reached into his pack and grabbed the hammer. He began pulling them out while Paul held the lid steady. When they got it open, a cloud of dust blew out at them. Paul coughed and covered his eyes with his forearm. He really didn’t want to look down; Fiona had been in bits and pieces, but Mariah was almost certainly a full skeleton.

“Paul,” Daryl said, exhaling a deep breath. “Hand me the pack. You don’ gotta look.”

Paul sighed. “No,” he uncovered his eyes and made himself deal with what was in front of him. He was standing in a grave with a man he had too many feelings for, and the bones of two lovers that were forbidden to be together and ended up being murdered for it anyway.

Paul looked down at Mariah’s body. He felt like he was intruding, which technically he was, in a very fucked up way, but he knew he had to deal with this. He owed it to Fiona.

“I’ll do it,” Paul said. He reached into the pack and began placing the bones in the

coffin. He kept the last one in his open palm, and stared at it solemnly. He thought of all the things he had done to get here, what he was doing now, that he might have finally helped two souls find peace. He placed it in the coffin, and they sealed it back up. 

They didn’t say a word until after they were done refilling the grave. When they got to the swamp, Paul cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Daryl.” he turned to face him. “For helping me with all this. It meant--means a lot.”

Daryl looked at him, moving closer. “‘Course. I’d do it anytime for ya.”

Paul smiled. “Hopefully you’ll never need to dig up a grave for me ever again.”

Daryl shrugged. “Just lemme know.”

They made it to the edge of the woods without a problem, and came out to where the truck was parked under full moonlight.

As Paul looked at Daryl, he realized that there was so much tension formed between them it was almost unbearable. Their mission was over, they had done everything they had set out to, and the only thing left for Paul was to keep Daryl. He didn’t know what he’d been waiting for, but he supposed Daryl helping him do any of this, no matter how illegal or perhaps slightly immoral, was enough of a sign.

Daryl was only inches away from him at this point, so Paul finally tried to lean in to kiss him.

“Hi, baby brother, long time no see.”

Paul froze and turned toward the voice. He instantly noted that Merle and Daryl looked absolutely nothing alike, at least not at first. He looked between them, then at the two men standing next to Merle. One was big, bearded, and mean looking. The other was about Daryl’s height, his eyes were glassy and wide and a little twitchy. Paul stayed on the defensive and as close to Daryl as he could get.

“Merle,” Daryl said firmly. “Go home.”

“Naw, man, you ain’t been comin’ around since I got outta the cage, we were wonderin’ where ya been.” Merle stumbled a bit, and Paul saw the flask in his hand. He lifted it to his mouth and took a giant swig, then wiped his mouth on his forearm. He looked Paul up and down and chuckled. “Guess this is it though, huh?”

Paul didn’t dare look away from Merle. He could tell he was the type of guy that would take advantage of the smallest bit of submission, and Paul was not about to show any fear or hesitation. For Daryl’s sake, if anything. 

“My name’s Paul,” he said. “And we don’t want any trouble.”

Merle barked out a laugh, loud and bitter. “Trouble? Honey, you’re hangin’ out with trouble.” He then turned to talk to his brother. “And you’re tellin’ me yer dumb enough to think pretty boy sees anything other than trash when he looks at you?”

Daryl’s frame seemed smaller then, like Merle’s comment had physically shrunk him. Paul wanted to stick his knife against Merle’s throat and see if that was enough to scare him away. 

“What, you too good to be around us anymore?” Merle said. “Sheriff Rick pulled ya in all those years ago and now yer only spendin’ time with the best of the best?”

“I visited you when you got put away, asshole,” Daryl finally snapped. “I was there every two weeks to see your drug dealin’ ass.” He stepped closer to Merle then, waving his hand at the two behind him. “And now you’re bringin’ family around to try and intimidate me?” He nodded at the smaller guy. “How many times I kick your ass when we were kids, RJ?” the man snarled but stayed where he was. Daryl looked Merle right in the eye. “Go home, sleep it off. I’ll call you in the mornin’.” He patted Merle’s shoulder a little harder than necessary then backed away and nudged Paul toward the truck. They climbed in and Daryl revved the engine, then they pulled out onto the road, waiting until they were a good ways down the road to speed up. 

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said. “He was all fucked up, he wouldn’t have actually done anything.”

“Daryl, it's okay.” Paul replied. 

They were quiet for a little, and the look on Daryl’s face made Paul’s heart hurt. They pulled into Paul’s driveway and Daryl shut his door and lit up a cigarette. Paul stood on the front lawn with him as he smoked. 

“You know that all that stuff he said was bullshit,” Paul said softly, genuinely. “I don't see you that way at all.” 

“He’s right, though.” Daryl shrugged. “I try not to be like Merle, or my pa, but that’s where I come from. That’s in my blood.”

“Fuck that,” Paul said straight out and Daryl looked startled. “Your father may have been awful, and your brother may not be much better, but you? You just helped bring two lost souls back together, you helped me unhaunt my house, you help anyone who needs it without a question. You’re a good friend and a good person. You’re nothing like them.”

Daryl ducked his head and he took a long drag of his cigarette and looked up at Paul.

“Okay?” Paul asked.

Daryl nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” Paul said finally. “I’m gonna go inside and get some water.”

Rosie was waiting right by the door and began meowing and weaving through his legs immediately. He laughed and picked her up to kiss her on the forehead. He placed her down in the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. He chugged it and refilled it to drink more, but he heard a thrash come from the front of the house and he went to go check.

“Daryl-?”   
There was a strong wind that blew in through the windows then, colder than any snow he’d ever experienced, worse than family winter trips in the mountains when he was a kid. It almost knocked Paul over as it blew throughout the house loudly. Daryl was writhing on the floor in the living room, gasping for air. His face twisted in pain and it looked like it hurt so bad that he couldn’t breathe. 

“Daryl, stay with me,” Paul grabbed a pillow to put under his head, and as he did so, the whole house got dark. The lights dimmed, not even went out. The air around them got thicker, the lighting a greenish blue tint. It looked exactly like it did before he moved in.

Daryl was completely still then.

“Fuck, what the fuck,” Paul looked around frantically. It was over, it was  _ supposed  _ to be over. “What the hell is this? Fiona, what’s happening?”

“It's not over,” Fiona’s voice boomed loud throughout the house. Her silhouette formed in front of him. “There’s one last sacrifice to make.”

Fiona looked enraged still, but sad. She looked like part of her didn’t want to do this, but it couldn’t fight through the anger. She set her gaze on Daryl’s unmoving form.

“Daryl?” he yelled. “Fiona he’s done nothing but help!”

“He carries the devil’s tools.” she said through clenched teeth, and he could see her clearly now, and she was  _ pissed _ . 

Paul looked around the room and spotted Daryl’s crossbow on the chair. They had thought all this was over so Daryl probably didn’t even think to leave it in the truck. Wasting no time, Paul leapt up and took it. He was starting to feel cold all over, like the first night they had tried this, and the more steps he took to the back door, the slower his legs moved. He felt like he was walking through sludge, like it was pooling around his feet and holding him back. He took as deep a breath as he could and looked down at the crossbow; this was it. This was the piece that was missing. It had never really been Daryl’s--it was always Judd’s.

Paul shook his head and tried to snap himself out of it. “I’ll take care of it.” He ran outside to the truck where the tools were and grabbed Daryl’s sledgehammer. He ran around to the back of the house and threw the crossbow on the ground and held his arms out. 

“This is it, right? This is what you wanted?” he yelled. He swung the sledgehammer up over his head and brought it down on the bow. It snapped in half, and after a couple more hits it was finally in pieces.

Paul breathed heavily as he looked down at the shattered crossbow, and then snapped back to reality. He realized that everything around him had gone back to normal, all except one thing. 

Mariah was standing a few feet away from him, and that was weird, because Paul had never actually met her like he had Fiona.

“Oh,” he huffed, surprised.

“Sorry about that,” she said sweetly, an apologetic smile on her face. “He’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Paul wanted to say so many things, ask so many questions, but all he could muster was, “I’m so sorry about everything.”

She waved him away. “Oh, don’t you start that, darlin’. You did so much to help us. Far more than I would have asked of anyone. You didn’t have to, but you did it anyway.”

Paul felt his heart tug, then remembered Daryl dying on his kitchen floor.

Mariah stepped forward, then put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a warm smile. “Go back to him.”

Paul left Mariah and rushed back inside. Daryl was still, his body limp. Paul leaned down and put Daryl’s head in his lap.

“Daryl,” he patted him on the face. “Daryl, wake up.”

Daryl twitched, and then he came back up with a giant gasp for air, scaring the shit out of Paul. Daryl clutched at his chest and tried to get some air into his lungs.

“Hey, easy.” Paul made him slow his breathing and held him against him for

support. Paul squeezed Daryl, trying to share some of his body heat. He was afraid if he let go, that Daryl would completely collapse.

Daryl shivered. “‘M cold.”

“Come on,” Paul finally helped him up and over to the couch. Paul wrapped him in two blankets and headed toward the kitchen. He sat with him for a while until he stopped shivering so violently. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to make you some tea.”

Paul heated up the kettle and gripped the counter until his knuckles were white. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Tonight happened, and now they were  _ officially  _ at the tail end, and Paul was exhausted. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the microwave; His face and his clothes were disgusting, and he definitely needed to shower.

Paul walked back into the living room and handed Daryl his tea. “How bad is it?”

Daryl shrugged and sipped at his drink. “My chest feels like ice.”

He nodded solemnly. “Will you come upstairs? I’m gonna shower, but I want to know that I’ll be able to hear you if you need me.”

Daryl nodded and got up, bringing his tea and blankets with him.

Paul grabbed clean clothes and nodded at Daryl. “You can borrow some pajamas, and you should take a nice hot shower..”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Paul went to the bathroom and kept the door cracked the tiniest bit. He turned on the water and watched as steam filled the bathroom. He undressed and stepped under the piping hot water and watched as all the dirt, and his stresses, washed down the drain. It was over, and he knew it would take a bit of time to process. He was tired, and achy, and he knew he’d feel worse tomorrow when all that digging came back to seek vengeance on his arms. 

He had saved Daryl, though. He was able to save him before Fiona completely did him in. Paul knew he should probably feel some sort of disdain for her after that, but he couldn’t find the energy. She was a woman of passion, and a little chaotic, which made Paul think of how Daryl could be sometimes, and that made him sadder in a way. He honestly wished he could have known Fiona in this life, that she had gotten more time.

He washed his hair thoroughly, and scrubbed his body down, then just let the hot water wash over his back for a little bit. He turned off the water and stepped out to dry off, wrapping his towel around his waist and clearing off some of the mirror with his palm. He looked at himself up and down before deciding that this felt much better. He got dressed, combed his hair out, then went back to his room. He tossed his clothes in the hamper and laid on the bed next to Daryl.

“Feel any better?” Paul asked.

Daryl nodded. “‘’M gonna go shower.”

“Do that,” Paul yawned. “I’ll wait up for you.”

Daryl chuckled. “Go to sleep, I’ll be back in in a little bit. If ya take the covers I’ll just pull ‘em out from under you.”

Paul nodded and laid his head back on the pillow. He was pretty sure he fell asleep before Daryl even left the room.

  


Paul was in his backyard, a pink tint all around him. He knew what this meant by now.

“You made it.” Fiona smiled from where she sat on an old timey patio set, complete with wicker chairs, an umbrella held in a small glass table, and a pitcher of lemonade. Fiona patted the chair next to her. “Come on, sit.”

He did as he was told, and faced her as she poured him a cup of lemonade. She looked great in a light blue sundress, a derby style hat, and white gloves. She looked like a true southern belle, and it suited her.

“I’m sorry about what happened last night,” Fiona drawled. “I’m so embarrassed I let myself get like that. I didn’t mean to hurt him, I know what it’s like to have the one you love taken from you.”

“He’s okay,” Paul assured her.

She smiled at him. “You’re a good one, Paul. I’m gonna miss you.”

Paul frowned. “I figured all this meant you wouldn’t be around anymore. I’ll miss you too.”

Mariah came out from around the corner of the house carrying a basket of veggies. She was radiant in a yellow sundress, her hair big and curly.

“Oh you two, so dramatic” she put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder, and Fiona placed her hand over Mariah’s with a smile. “You can always come visit, darlin’.”

Paul grinned. “I will.”

He got up to leave, and they both stood up to hug him. “Thank you, Paul.” Fiona whispered in his ear, and he drifted off.

Paul woke up feeling at peace. He opened his eyes and relished the soft, warm summer breeze coming in through his open bedroom window. He looked beside him at Daryl, who was already awake and looking at the ceiling. Paul turned toward him and poked his arm.

“How are you feeling?” Paul asked.

“Good,” Daryl massaged over his heart. “Little sore, my arms hurt.”

“Same,” Paul commiserated. “I’m afraid to even move my back.”

“I gotta get back to my apartment soon. Gonna throw those clothes in the wash, maybe clean up a bit.” Daryl said. “Ain’t been there much since you started hangin’ around.”

“Technically  _ you _ started hanging around.” Paul smiled. 

“Whatever.” Daryl rolled his eyes jokingly and sat up. Paul followed, and they headed down to the kitchen to give Rosie her food. Daryl went out the back door to smoke a cigarette. 

“Hey, Paul?” he called in.

“Yeah?”

“What’s that on the--Oh.” 

Paul went to meet Daryl outside, realizing what he had found.

Daryl stood in front of his shattered crossbow on the ground and sighed deeply. He moved it with his foot, but it just fell apart further.

“Sorry about that.” Paul said softly. 

“Nah,” Daryl shrugged. “Had to happen.”

They were quiet as they looked down at the last piece of their adventure, completely destroyed.

“I can get you a new one,” Paul said. “I owe you. I  _ did  _ go all Rambo on it with a sledgehammer last night. It was pretty sweet.”

Daryl laughed under his breath and squeezed Paul’s shoulder. “Y’did good.”

“ _ We _ did good.”

Before Daryl left for his apartment, he stopped at the door and looked back at Paul.

“Will I see you later?” he asked.

Paul’s heart warmed. “Yeah, we should go out. Celebrate our victory.”

Daryl grinned. “Alright. I’ll text ya.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finale! thanks to everyone who gave this story a read and to the readers that were here with me 3 years ago and came back to it. you're all the absolute best.

Paul was freaking the fuck out at this point. He didn’t know why, his outfit and hair looked good, and it was  _ Daryl _ for fuck’s sake. They had saved each other’s lives before, that was a pretty big bond to have with someone as far as he was concerned. He shouldn’t be nervous.

That was just it though, They had been in so many high stakes situations, almost every time they hung out was either with other people, or talking all about ghosts and possessions and poltergeists. What if they got to be alone and have a normal conversation outside of the house, and Daryl realized he made a mistake?

Paul felt guilty. That was seriously not giving Daryl any credit, because he was a good guy and a good friend, and Paul needed to remember that.

“Alright, Rosie, what do you think?” He turned towards the cat sitting on his bed and held his arms out.

She meowed loudly at him and rolled onto her back to show her belly. He pet near her chest and she started purring. 

“I’ll take that as positive feedback.” he chuckled. 

They were meeting up at seven thirty to go to Daryl’s favorite bar. It was divey, but apparently they made a mean burger. Paul got there and realized that this place was so very Daryl; it was dimly lit with blue christmas lights strung around the support beams, and there were dart boards hung on the wall. There were a couple of tough, burly looking guys at the bar who looked over at him, but the bartender just told him to feel free to sit anywhere. He spotted Daryl waving at him from a booth near the bar and sat with him.

“Hey,” Paul smiled. “You look nice.”

“You too.” Daryl said, giving Paul a menu. “You want a beer? They got a giant list to choose from.” 

Paul chose an IPA and Daryl got up to order them at the bar. Paul watched as the guys at the bar sized Daryl up before one of them greeted him with a wave and a smile. Daryl returned it and walked back to the table. 

“It's usually busier in here.” Daryl said. “Lotta college kids come through on the weekends.”

“You come here a lot, then?” Paul sipped his beer. “You seem like you have friends everywhere.”

Daryl nodded. “Those guys are clients. I fix their cars, mostly. Know ‘em cause I meet with Rick here every wednesday after his shift for beers. Carol used to come, but she’s been off travelin’ with her boyfriend.”

“I think you’ve mentioned Carol before,” Paul said. “Maybe not her boyfriend.”

“You’d like ‘em. Ezekiel's theatrical, and Carol’s always taken care’a me.”

“All your friends sound awesome,” Paul said genuinely.

Daryl finished off his beer. “You heard the Greenes are havin’ a barbeque next week? You’ll at least get to meet Rick and Michonne there.”

Daryl had mentioned before how he’d want Paul to meet his friends. It made Paul feel warm inside.

“Maggie texted me about it today. I’d love to meet your friends. ” Paul finished his beer as well, then picked up both their glasses and stood up. “Next ones are on me.” 

They sat for a while and ordered burgers, which Paul thoroughly enjoyed. Daryl told him more about his friends, how he and Rick were going to teach Rick’s son, Carl, how to shoot. He also said Ezekiel had mentioned something to him before they left for their trip about proposing to Carol.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part,” Daryl gulped his beer and set his napkin on his empty plate. “But I figured you can keep a secret.”

Paul made an X over his heart. “Swear I won’t tell.” 

After finishing their meals and drinking one more beer, they split the tab and made their way outside. The sun was just beginning to set, and it painted a pink and orange hue across the light blue sky. 

Daryl lit up a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke against the southern summer backdrop. “There’s somethin’ else I wanna show ya. ‘Less you got somewhere better to be.”

Paul chuckled. “I think I’ve got some time. Where to?”

Daryl pulled the truck up to the side of the road that faced the woods, and the sight of the church looming in front of them stirred a feeling of familiarity in Paul. There was one other car in the gravel parking lot, and the church had a few lights on inside. They got out of the car and Paul raised an eyebrow in Daryl’s direction, but Daryl just smirked and nodded towards the entrance. Paul followed him, Daryl taking his hand as they walked in. 

“What is this place?” Paul whispered, trying to be respectful as they stood in the quiet foyer.

“This was Fiona and Mariah’s church,” Daryl replied. “This is where they volunteered.”

“Holy sh--” Paul glanced around as if a nun would appear out of nowhere and start scolding him. “Its beautiful.”

“There’s more, c’mon.” Daryl took Paul into the chapel, where there were rows of empty pews, and a priest standing at the altar, organizing pamphlets. They walked to the front and Daryl gently greeted the father.

“Oh, Daryl, it’s good to see you again.” The priest smiled and looked at Paul. “And you must be Paul. I’m Father Gabriel.”

Paul nodded, surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’s me.” 

Gabriel nodded, looking over his hair and face. “I don’t mean to stare, it’s just—you do look a good bit like him.” He pointed his thumb toward the crucifix behind him.

“So I’ve been told.” Paul smiled.

“Got somethin’ for ya.” Daryl said. “The father helped me find it.’”

“Yes! Of course,” Gabriel hurried to the back room and returned with a folder. He walked down the stairs and handed it to Paul. “I have these for you, by special request.”

Paul took the folder and looked at Daryl. Daryl nodded toward the door, motioning for him to follow him back outside.

“Thank you, Father,” Daryl said. “You were a lotta help.”

“Anything for the best fix-it man in the south.” Gabriel replied, waving them off with a smile. “You have fun, you crazy kids.”

Once they were outside, Daryl nudged Paul to open the folder. Inside, Paul found four photos, all taken either outside or inside the church. Two were from a fundraiser, one was of people milling about the parking lot after a service, one taken of a group of volunteers all lined up for a group picture. Mariah and Fiona were in all of them, and in every single one, they were together. If these pictures had been taken today, Paul would have no doubt in his mind that these two women were romantically involved. The look of love and admiration on both their faces, the secret smiles and glances, captured on film forever. Paul kind of wanted to cry, but instead he just took a deep breath and turned to throw his arms around Daryl’s neck.

“I was hopin’ you would like it.” Daryl put his arms around Paul’s waist and squeezed him.

When Paul pulled back to look at him, there was a beat of silent tension between them. Daryl looked a little terrified, but he also looked expectant, like he was going to move or say something, but he couldn’t quite get himself to do it. 

“Daryl,” Paul started then realized he didn’t really have to say anything.

Paul leaned forward and kissed him. Daryl pushed back into him almost immediately, and Paul sighed against his mouth. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening, that he was finally kissing Daryl, and Daryl was kissing him  _ back _ .

Paul pulled away reluctantly for some air, and they breathed heavily against each other.

“Oh,” Daryl said quietly. 

Paul nodded. “Yeah.”

Daryl leaned back in and kissed him a bit more gently. Paul savored it, his hand cupping Daryl’s jaw.

“I thought I was going to lose you last night.” Paul said against Daryl’s lips. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Daryl shook his head. “‘M right here. I ain’t goin anywhere.”

Paul had never felt so vulnerable in his life, but the confirmation that Daryl truly did feel the same hit him hard. He felt unsteady, almost dreamlike, but he knew this was real. This wasn’t another one of Fiona’s tricks, no more spiritual energy pushing them together. This was just him and Daryl. 

“I just…” Paul trailed off. “I wasn’t sure if you knew, and I definitely wasn’t going to make the first move, but--”

“Paul,” Daryl said. “Shut up.”

Paul couldn’t agree more. He just pushed himself closer to Daryl, not able to get enough. They rested their foreheads together and just breathed. Daryl held onto him like his life depended on it. 

“Let’s go home,” Paul said quietly.

Daryl nodded. “Let’s go home.”

They made it back to the house, holding hands the whole way home, the cat greeting them loudly as usual. Paul felt that familiar shaking in his gut, the nervousness of something new, the tension between them in the air. It felt like he was suffocating. 

He and Daryl stood in the living room for a moment, putting their coats down and slowly moving around each other, circling each other for the next move. Paul didn’t want to straight up pull Daryl up to his bed--Well, he  _ did _ want that, but he didn’t want Daryl to think that’s  _ all  _ he wanted.

Eventually, Paul ended up throwing a movie on the TV. He didn’t know why this was so nerve wracking; he and Daryl had slept in the same bed, they’d already kissed, they saved each other’s lives. This should be easy, but instead it was just fucking terrifying.

Paul sat on the couch next to Daryl, and said fuck it, as was the mood for the night. He was on Daryl’s lips about ten minutes into the movie. Daryl responded quickly, pulling Paul close to him. Paul was able to shift him, and Daryl got the hint to move onto Paul’s lap. When he did, they slowed down for a moment, their mouths just moving lazily against each other. Daryl rolled his hips just slightly down into Paul’s lap, causing Paul to groan into his mouth. His hands gripped Daryl’s hips a little tighter, and Daryl ground down on him a little harder. 

Paul reached down to the button of Daryl’s jeans, leaving them there to see how Daryl would react. But Daryl just kept kissing him, so Paul unbuttoned his jeans and reached in to grab his dick. Daryl leaned his forehead against Paul’s and shuddered out a sigh as Paul started stroking him. It got to the point where Daryl’s shallow panting became too much for Paul to handle, so he flipped them over so he was leaning over Daryl’s lap now, and he got down on his knees on the floor in front of him. He took Daryl’s dick into his mouth and moved down as much as he could, wrapping his hand around the shaft while he moved his mouth. Daryl’s hand flew down to grip Paul’s hair gently, pulling slightly every time Paul went down. Paul couldn’t believe how fucking hot it was, seeing Daryl completely blissed out, eyes half closed trying to keep himself together. Paul took all of him into his mouth, and Daryl bucked his hips up and groaned out loud. Paul pulled off, then went up to kiss Daryl on the lips.

“Upstairs?” he asked. Daryl just nodded, still breathing a bit heavily, but he stood up and followed Paul to his bed.

They laid next to each other and began taking each other’s clothes off, trying to take their time but also frantic with the need to just be close to each other. Once they were completely naked, Paul pulled the covers over them and leaned over Daryl. When Paul started stroking him again, Daryl just wrapped his legs around Paul’s waist and pulled their groins closer together. Paul was already half hard, but when Daryl took his dick into his hand and gripped it a few times, he was pretty much ready to go.

He reached into the bedside drawer and took out a bottle of lube and a condom, then looked at Daryl quizzically. Daryl led his hand down to his ass as a hint for Paulto start prepping him. They hadn’t discussed it beforehand, but Paul sort of figured this is how it would go. Paul slicked his fingers with lube and got to it. Daryl was away more responsive than Paul thought he would be, little moans and breathy curses spilled from his mouth when Paul entered one finger, then two, massaging and stretching him. Once he was ready, Daryl pulled Paul by the hair back up to his lips and kissed him hard.

Before Paul went for it, he leaned down to kiss Daryl and looked at him to make sure he was ready. He lifted his hips up as a signal for Paul to go, and when he pushed in they both let out groans of relief. Once he was fully inside, Paul needed a minute to take in the whine that left Daryl’s mouth and focus on not finishing right there. He took a deep breath before pulling almost all the way out and then slowly pushing back in. 

“Fuck,” Daryl growled out. “Fuck, Paul.”

“Yeah.” Paul breathed out, burying his face in Daryl’s neck.

They set a rhythm fairly quickly, and it all felt so right. Daryl’s hands clawing at his back, his fingers gripping Paul’s hips. Paul always heard people say that sometimes you find someone that makes sex feel like you’ve found a perfect fit, but Paul had never experienced that until now.

Looking down at Daryl, the look of ecstasy on his face and his hair mussed up, completely wrecked with it, was enough to drive Paul toward the edge. 

“Fuck,” Paul breathed out when his hips started to speed up a little. He could feel his orgasm building up now and he didn’t know if he could take much more. “I’m getting close.”

Daryl bit his lip and nodded, seeming to be at the same point. Paul put one hand behind Daryl’s neck, and the other on his dick, jerking him off to the same rhythm as their hips. Daryl got there first, coming all over his and Paul’s stomachs, and the warmth was enough to make Paul follow right after. 

They both laid there, trying to come back down, their limbs shaky and breath heavy. When Paul could finally see straight again, he pulled out slowly, and took the condom off, tied it, and threw it into the trash that was under his nightstand. He laid next to Daryl and curled up to put his hand on his chest. Daryl turned toward him as well, tangling their legs together and slowing their breathing.

“Holy shit,” Daryl said under his breath. 

“Agreed.” Paul smiled. “Sorry if it was, uh--” he cleared his throat a bit. “Quick. It’s just...been awhile.”

“You’re fine,” Daryl gave him a small grin. “Me too.”

Paul didn’t know how long they laid there in each others’ arms before they drifted off to sleep, but before he passed out he remembered feeling a small weight jump onto the bed with a small chirp and curl up by their feet.

Paul woke up spooning Daryl, who was breathing softly. He kissed across Daryl’s shoulders, then buried his face in the back of his neck. He breathed in, and realized that yes, this had happened. This was all real.

Daryl stirred then, turning to Paul and kissing him lightly. “Mornin’.”

“Morning.” Paul smiled. “Sleep okay?”

“More than okay,” Daryl replied. “I had a cat layin’ on my legs all night, though.”

They looked at Rosie, laying at the bottom of the bed right on top of Daryl. At the opportunity of attention, she stretched and went over to them, purring loudly.

“I’m surprised she didn’t wake us up for food already.” Paul said as he watched Daryl scratch under Rosie’s chin. “Should probably feed her.”

Daryl pet her for a little while longer, and then they got up to get dressed and go downstairs.

Paul watched as Daryl gathered his clothes off the floor, and saw what he knew he had felt under his own fingers last night. All across Daryl’s back, there were long, faded welts; they looked old, but also like they had hurt a fuck ton when they were fresh. He thought of Daryl’s father, wondered if, on top of everything else, he was also the type of man to abuse his children. He put those thoughts away for the moment, though, because he was sure he would hear about it whenever Daryl was ready to tell him.

They went to the kitchen to make coffee, and sat down at the table.

“Do you have work today?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah, at four.” Paul blew on his coffee before sipping it. “Probably going to be slow.”

“I’ll see you afterwards?” Daryl asked in his usual nonchalant way, but with a bit of unsure hope. Even after everything, after they had  _ slept  _ together, Daryl was still nervous about all this, which honestly made Paul feel a little more secure.

He smiled. “Absolutely.”

When Saturday rolled around, Paul woke up to a kiss and a soft “I’ll see you later” from Daryl. He was going to meet Paul at the barbeque as he had a consultation for a mechanic job that morning. Daryl had been essentially living at the house, not that it was much different than the last month or so, Daryl slowly becoming a constant in Paul’s day to day. 

Tara and Denise picked Paul up and they went to the Greene farm together. They walked up the dirt path to the house and brought their packs of beer around back where the party was. There were a lot of people there, milling about among the food tables and the various horseshoe games that were setup. 

Paul looked into the crowd and saw Maggie and Glenn talking to Sasha and Rosita. They made their way over and said hi to everybody. Maggie looked radiant, and Glenn looked happy, but a bit nervous. 

Glenn stepped aside to get a beer, and Paul followed to put their drinks in the cooler. He took one of his own and cracked it open. 

“Hey man.” Paul said. 

Glenn jumped a bit and sighed when he looked at Paul. “Hey, sorry.”

“You okay? You seem a little...skiddish.” Paul asked, concerned.

Glenn nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, just a little nervous. Maggie and I, well...we’re uh--”

Paul’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit.” he lowered his voice, thankful no one was in their immediate vicinity. “Did you ask her--?”

Glenn took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah, we’re waiting until everyone’s here, but--”

As if on cue, Daryl walked through the crowd with a family of four in tow, saying their hellos to everyone. He saw Maggie greet all of them excitedly, then wave Glenn over with a smile. 

Glenn took a deep breath. “Guess that’s my cue. Wish me luck, dude.” he patted Paul on the arm and walked over to them. Paul chuckled and looked over and made eye contact with Daryl. Paul walked over to him and Daryl gave him a peck on the lips, which caught him off guard, as he had only told Tara, but she had never seen them together as a couple. They had only really spent time with each other for the past week since their date, save for work. When Paul was done at the cafe, he would race out so he could get home as soon as possible. He was pretty sure Maggie had figured it out, shooting him knowing glances whenever they were at work together as if to say ‘ _ I told you so’ _ .

“Hey,” Paul said. “How was the appointment?”

Daryl shrugged, giving him a small smile. “Pretty good, gonna start workin’ on the car next week.” he took Paul’s hand and nodded to the family he came in with. “That’s Rick and Michonne, c’mon, I’ll introduce ya.” 

Michonne was dealing with their little girl, and Rick was closing up a diaper bag when they walked up to them.

Rick grinned at Daryl and then Paul. Right off the bat Paul noticed his blue eyes and his beautiful curls. Daryl was one hundred percent his type, but if Paul were to have any other type, this guy would definitely be it.

“Hey, this is Paul.” Daryl said.

“Rick, nice to meet ya.” he drawled and held out his hand.

“You too.” Paul shook it and gave him a warm smile.

“Michonne,” she said, giving him a wave. The little girl started tugging on her dress so Michonne took her hand. “Duty calls.” 

They walked off and Rick turned back to them. 

“Where’d Carl go?” Daryl asked. 

“Probably straight for the food, knowin’ him.” Rick said. “So, Paul, Daryl’s told me a lot about you. Been spendin’ a lotta time together.”

Daryl’s cheeks went red and he turned away clearing his throat. Paul was screaming inside but he kept his cool. Fucking adorable.

“Yeah, keep it on the down low, but we’ve been hunting ghosts.” Paul said playfully.

“Ah,” Rick nodded in fake seriousness. “Very important business.”

Maggie spoke up then trying to get everyone’s attention, and when he noticed Daryl wasn’t looking Rick gave him a wink.

“Thank you all so much for coming. We gathered you all here today because we have an announcement.” Maggie beamed. Hershel and Annette stood close by her and Glenn, smiling radiantly. “We’re getting married!”

There were immediate gasps and hollers from the crowd, everyone clapping. Glenn was smiling now, looking much more relieved than he did earlier. 

“Holy shit,” Daryl laughed. “The kid actually had the balls.”

“I’m proud of him.” Rick smiled. “It was about time.”

Maggie and Glenn made their way through the barbecue, accepting congratulations. Daryl went with Paul to talk with Tara and Denise. They grabbed plates of food and sat down with a new beer. 

“Can you believe it?” Tara said through a mouthful of food. 

“Yeah, finally.” Paul replied.

They went off on a rave about Glenn and Maggie. Denise was fantastic, Paul had already decided, and so right for Tara. He was happy for them, for all his friends. 

Once they were done eating, Daryl pulled out his pack of cigarettes and nodded towards the front yard at Paul. They excused themselves and walked together. They were alone out front, and the sun was starting to set just slightly. Daryl looked great with his hair pushed out of his face and a cigarette between his lips. 

After everything that had happened, Paul’s heart would always speed up whenever Daryl looked at him. 

“I like Rick already,” Paul said. “Very charming.”

“Yeah, he’s always been like that.” Daryl replied. “Natural born leader, that one. Keeps us all together.”

They looked out over the farmlands that stretched around them. It was the golden hour, and Paul could not take his eyes off the way the sun hit Daryl’s form. He wanted to frame it, but he knew now that he’d get to have a lot more moments like these. 

“So,” Paul said, a coy smile on his face. “How would you feel about making this ghost hunting thing professional?”

Daryl breathed out a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’?” 

“Think about it, we can get those EVP things and infrared cameras,” he made a square with his hands and looked through it. “We already got pretty good at navigating the forest in the dark, imagine if we had night vision goggles.”

Daryl leaned in to give Paul a long but soft kiss. “I’m gonna need a couple weeks to recuperate. Getting possessed is a lot more exhausting than it seems.”

“I believe it,” he pushed Daryl’s hair out of his face. “Fine, a couple of weeks. Then we’re back in action.”

Daryl laughed and rolled his eyes, putting his arm over Paul’s shoulder as they walked back toward the party. “Anythin’ you want.”


End file.
